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THE  BENSON  LIBRARY  OF  HYMNOLOGY 

Endowed  by  the  Reverend 

Louis  Fitzgerald  Benson,  d.d. 

? 

LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 
wfO'O      PRINCETON,  NEW  JERSEY 


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JUL  30  1941 


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BIBLE    MUSI 


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UG\£  L  se> 


Inng  ©tafams,  in  IJtag  legs,  on  ^mwd 
w  fxom  Smgtm 


FRANCIS  JACOX,    B.A., 

Autlwr  of  "Cues  from  all  Quarters,"  etc.,  etc. 


*  From  holy  writ  the  motif  or  the  theme. 
And  variations  thence  meandering  stream  ; 
Andante  now,  Adagio  now  prevails, 
Now  Allegretto  chirps,  now  Largo  wails  ; 
Major  to  minor  turns  ;  chromatic  scales 
Change  colour,  as  chameleon  his  hue, 
If  not  clean  turning  achromatic  too." 

Nicias  Foxcar. 


ROBERTS,     BROTHERS 


MDCCCLXXII. 


PREFATORY. 


To  matter-of-fact  sticklers  for  sticking  to  one's 
text,  this  book  is  not  unlikely  to  be  an  offence 
throughout.  The  texts  are  taken  less  as  stand- 
points than  as  starting-points  ;  less  as  something 
to  make  a  stand  upon,  than  as  something  to  get 
away  from.  To  compare  them  to  stones, — they 
are  here  used  not  as  foundation-stones,  whereon  to 
uprear  an  orderly  structure,  but  as  stepping-stones, 
for  crossing  a  stream  that,  like  Wordsworth's, 
wanders  at  its  own  sweet  will ;  and  the  bank  once 
gained,  the  rambling  becomes  almost  systematic- 
ally vagrant,  up  stream,  down  stream,  or  against 
the  stream,  whithersoever  chance  suggests  or  fancy 
leads. 

One  word,  also  to  the  address  of  matter-of-fact 


vi  PREFATORY. 


critics,  on  the  use  of  the  term  "Author,"  on  the 
title-page  or  elsewhere,  of  this  or  any  other  book 
from  the  same  pen.  If  none  can  write  himself 
author  who  cannot  point  to  some  achievement  in 
original,  creative  composition,  I  am  none.  If  I 
could  think  of  another  term  that  should  not  look 
affected  or  pedantic,  I  would  use  it.  Failing  any- 
such,  I  use  the  word  in  its  accepted  conventional 
sense, — conventionally  comprehensive,  comprehen- 
sively conventional 

F.J. 


Prestwood,  October^  1871, 


CONTENTS 


PREFATORY.  PAGE 

I.    IN   THE   BEGINNING,    AND   AT  THE   END  •  I 

JOB  XXXVIII.    6;   REV.  XIV.  2. 

II.    JUBAL's   INVENTION 1 7 

GENESIS   IV.  21. 

III.  ORGANS — BEYOND    THE    MEANING,     AND  THE 

PATIENCE,    OF  JOB 4 1 

IV.  AS   VINEGAR   UPON   NITRE      .  •  .  50 

PROVERBS   XXV.  20. 

v.  saul's  malady  and  david's  minstrelsy    .       72 

1  SAMUEL  XVI.  23  ;   XIX.  9,   IO. 

VI.    A   MUSICAL   MONARCH 86 

2  SAMUEL  VL  5. 

VII.    TEMPLE   MUSIC 113 

I   CHRON.  XVI.  41,  42;  2  CHRON.  V.   12,  13. 

VIII.   TRUMPET   TONES 1 29 

EXOD.  XIX.  16,  SQ.  ;  JUDGES  VIL  1 8,  SQ.  ;   I  COR. 

xv.  25. 

IX.    HAVING   EARS,    BUT   HEARING   NOT  .  .      1 42 

JEREMIAH  V.  21. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

X.    THE   BRUTE-WORLD   AND    MUSIC      .  1 64 

JOB  XXXIX.  24,  25  ;    PSALM  LVIII.  5. 

XI.    MINSTREL   AND    SEER 191 

2   KINGS   III.    15. 

XII.    UNCERTAINTY   OF   SOUND  .  ,  .224 

I  COR.  XIV.  7,  8. 

XIII.  MUSIC   AND   MORALS  ,  236 

AMOS  VI.  5. 

XIV.  IS   ANY    MERRY? 253 

PSALM   LXXXI.   I  ;  JAMES  V.   13. 

XV.    SONGS   OF   PILGRIMAGE  .  .  ,  .267 

PSALM   CXIX.   54. 

XVI.    SONGS   OF   EXILE  .  .  ,  ,  .  -      277 

PSALM    CXXXVTI.  3,  4. 

XVII.    SONGS    IN   THE   NIGHT  «  298 

JOB  XXXV.   10. 
INDEX  .  ,  .  .  ,  .  .       22 q 


BIBLE    MUSIC. 


i. 
3in  tlje  Bcgmnino;,  ana  at  tlje  (£ntu 

Job  xxxviii.  7  ;  Rev.  xiv.  2. 

WHERE  was  man — the  question  came  by- 
way of  answer  from  out  of  the  whirlwind — 
when  the  foundations  of  the  earth  were  fashioned, 
and  the  corner-stone  of  it  laid  ?  Man  as  yet  was 
not.  But  then  was  the  time  "when  the  morning 
stars  sang  together,"  and  creation  thrilled  at  the 
melody*  of  sound. 

*  Creation  thrilled  at  the  melody  of  speech — these  words, 
or  words  to  this  effect,  close  a  paragraph  in  a  sermon  by  the 
late  Henry  Melvill,  descriptive  of  the  first  articulate  utterance 
of  newly-created  man.  Congregations  thrilled  at  the  melody 
of  Canon  Melvill's  voice,  in  the  rich  fulness  of  its  mellow  prime ; 
and  no  listener  of  those  days  can  well  have  forgotten  the  sen- 
sational effect  of  breath-drawing  on  the  part  of  the  people. 

I 


CHURCH-GOERS?   SIGH   OF  RELIEF. 

"  From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 
This  universal  frame  began : 
When  nature  underneath  a  heap 
Of  jarring  atoms  lay, 


when  the  climax,  or  grand  climacteric,  of  a  paragraph  was  at 
length  reached  by  the  preacher,  and  the  culminating  effect,  the 
terminus  ad  que?n,  was  arrived  at,  so  that  the  hushed  ex- 
pectants could  breathe  freely  again,  and  prepare  for  a  fresh 
start.  One  is  reminded,  in  the  retrospect,  of  certain  words 
in  one  of  Corneille's  prefaces,  where  he  speaks  of  un  certain 
fremissement  dans  Vassemblee,  qui  marquait  une  curiosite 
//tense,  et  un  redoublcment  dy  attention,  etc.  The  church- 
goer's sigh  of  relief  is  by  the  satirical  associated  with  the  full 
stop  of  the  sermon ;  as  where  Mr.  Thackeray  describes  the 
effect  of  a  display  of  pianoforte  fireworks,  at  the  conclusion 
of  which  the  drawing-room  listeners  give  "a  heave  and  a 
gasp  of  admiration — a  deep-breathing  gushing  sound,  such  as 
you  hear  at  church  when  the  sermon  comes  to  a  full  stop." 
And  some  vague  echo  of  which  may  have  been  sounding  in 
Lord  Cockburn's  ears  when  he  described  the  fire  at  the  Tron 
Church  in  1824,  and  the  burning  of  the  clock — the  minute 
hand  dropping  suddenly  and  silently  down  to  the  perpen- 
dicular at  a  quarter  before  twelve  at  night :  "  When  the  old 
time-keepers  function  was  done,  there  was  an  audible  sigh 
over  the  spectators.  .  .  .  Scott,  whose  father's  pew  had  been 
in  the  Tron  Church,  lingered  a  moment,  and  said,  with  a  pro- 
found heave,  '  Eh,  sirs !  mony  a  weary,  wean-  sermon  hae  I 
heard  beneath  that  steeple ! ' "  No  listener  to  London's  Golden 
Lecturer  sighed  after  that  sort.  The  listening  was  more  like 
that  of  the  Commons  to  Pitt  at  his  best,  as  Dr.  Croly  has  de- 
scribed it — "deeply  silent  but  where  some  chord  was  so  power- 
fully touched  that  it  gave  a  universal  thrill.  Again  those 
involuntary  bursts  of  admiration  were  as  suddenly  hushed  by 
the  eagerness  of  the  House  to  listen,  and  the  awful  importance 


SENSATIONAL  BREATH-TAKING. 

And  could  not  heave  her  head, 
The  tuneful  voice  was  heard  from  high, 

'Arise,  ye  more  than  dead.' 
Then  cold,  and  hot,  and  moist,  and  dry, 


of  the  subject."  Dr.  Oliver  Holmes  makes  a  simile  that  is 
pat  and  pertinent,  when  he  pictures  Helen  Darley  sighing, 
and  changing  her  place,  "  as  persons  do  whose  breath  some 
cunning  orator  has  been  sucking  out  of  them  with  his  spongy 
eloquence,  so  that,  when  he  stops,  they  must  get  some  air, 
and  stir  about,  or  they  feel  as  if  they  should  be  half  smothered 
and  palsied."  There  float  in  the  memory  as  applicable,  if  only 
misapplied,  some  lines  of  Byron's  which  tell  how  every 
listener's  bosom  held  his  breath,  and  how,  throughout, 

1 '  from  man  to  man, 
A  swift  electric  shiver  ran  ;  .  .  . 
And  with  a  hushing  sound  comprest, 
A  sigh  shrunk  back  on  every  breast." 

Of  Melvill's  Golden  Lectures  it  might  be  said,  as  Macaulay 
says  of  Tillotson,  that  his  eloquence  attracted  to  the  heart  of 
the  City  crowds  of  the  learned  and  polite,  from  the  Inns  of 
Court  and  from  the  mansions  of  the  west  end  ;  a  considerable 
part  of  his  congregation  generally  consisting  of  young  clergy- 
men, "  who  came  to  learn  the  art  of  preaching  at  the  feet  of  him 
who" — thus  the  great  Whig  historian  appraises  the  great 
Whig  prelate — "  was  universally  considered  as  the  first  of 
preachers."  Another  Thursday  morning  series  will  occur  to 
some  readers,  not  forgetting  the  sensational  breath-taking 
after  prolonged  breath-holding,  to  which  this  footnote  refers. 
Dr.  Wardlaw  describes  as  "peculiarly  striking"  the  aspect 
of  the  Tron  Church,  in  Glasgow,  "  on  a  Thursday  forenoon ' 
(he  italicizes  the  day  of  the  week,  and  the  time  of  day,)  when 
Dr.  Chalmers  occupied  the  pulpit.  To  see  a  church  of  that 
size,  "  crammed  above  and  below,"  during  the  busiest  hours 
of  the  day,  with  fifteen  or  sixteen  hundred  hearers,  and  these 


SUSPIRATION  AND  EXPECTORATION. 


In  order  to  their  stations  leap, 
And  Music's  power  obey. 
From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 
This  universal  frame  began : 


of  all  vocations,  "  was  indeed  a  novel  and  strange  sight."  A 
hush  of  dead  silence  attended  the  giving  out  of  the  text ;  and 
as  the  preacher  grew  more  earnest,  so  did  the  listeners. 
"Every  breath  is  held,  every  cough  is  suppressed,  every 
fidgety  movement  is  settled  ;  every  one,  riveted  himself  by 
the  spell  of  the  impassioned  and  entrancing  eloquence,  knows 
how  sensitively  his  neighbour  will  resent  the  very  slightest 
disturbance.  Then,  by-and-by,  there  is  a  pause.  The 
speaker  stops — to  gather  breath,  to  wipe  his  forehead,  to 
adjust  his  gown,  and  purposely  too,  and  wisely,  to  give  the 
audience,  as  well  as  himself,  a  moment  or  two  of  relaxation. 
The  moment  is  embraced  ;  there  is  free  breathing,  sup- 
pressed coughs  get  vent,  postures  are  changed,  there  is  a 
universal  stir,  as  of  persons  who  could  not  have  endured  this 
strain  much  longer  ;  the  preacher  bends  forward,  his  hand  is 
raised — all  is  again  hushed."  A  learned  tourist  in  Norway 
not  long  since  bore  witness  that  the  most  impressive  service 
he  ever  heard  was  in  one  of  the  Bergen  churches — though  he 
owns  that  an  Englishman  might  have  been  a  little  startled  by 
the  amount  of  expectoration  indulged  in  by  the  congregation ; 
for  between  the  intervals  of  the  sermon  the  sound  was  like 
that  of  the  large  raindrops  at  the  beginning  of  a  thunder- 
shower.  The  expectoration  is  an  undesirable  complement  or 
supplement  to  the  deep-drawn  breath-taking ;  otherwise  the 
aspect  of  the  Bergen  auditory  answers  closely  enough  to  one 
spell-bound  by  a  Robert  Hall  or  a  Chalmers.  Dr.  Gregory 
tells  us  of  the  former,  that  from  the  beginning  of  his  dis- 
course "an  almost  breathless  silence  prevailed,"  deeply 
solemnizing  from  its  singular  intenseness.  Not  a  sound  was 
heard  but   that  of  the   preacher's   voice.      As   he   became 


UNDER   THE  SPELL. 


From  harmony  to  harmony- 
Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran, 
The  diapason  closing  full  in  Man." 


more  animated,  a  few  listeners  here  and  there  would  be  seen 
to  rise  from  their  seats,  and  stand  gazing  fixedly  upon  him — 
"  every  eye  directed  to  the  preacher,  yet  now  and  then  for  a 
moment  glancing  from  one  to  the  other,  thus  transmitting 
and  reciprocating  thought  and  feeling."  Professor  Fraser's 
description  of  Chalmers  at  the  Tron  Church  is  quite  a 
parallel  passage.  Of  the  doctor's  face,  from  which  "  intense 
emotion  beamed,"  he  says  what  John  Foster  said  of  Robert 
Hall's,  that  it  was  "  lighted  up  almost  into  a  glare."  The 
congregation,  he  says,  were  leaning  forward  in  the  pews,  like 
a  forest  bending  under  the  power  of  the  hurricane — looking 
intently  at  the  preacher,  and  listening  in  breathless  wonder- 
ment. "  One  young  man,  apparently  a  sailor,  who  sat  in  a 
pew  before  me,  started  to  his  feet,  and  stood  till  it  was  over. 
So  soon  as  it  was  concluded,  there  was  (as  invariably  was  the 
case  at  the  close  of  the  doctor's  bursts)  a  deep  sigh,  or  rather 
gasp  for  breath,  accompanied  by  a  movement  throughout  the 
whole  audience."  Such  a  movement  as  the  Chronicler  of 
Carlingford  has  in  mind,  in  the  sentence, — "  his  audience 
paused  with  him,  taking  breath  with  the  orator  in  a  slight 
universal  rustle,  which  is  the  most  genuine  applause." — Not 
the  least  graphic  of  the  many  describers  of  Savonarola  as  a 
preacher,  speaks  of  his  voice  rising  in  impassioned  force  up 
to  a  certain  point,  when  he  became  suddenly  silent,  let  his 
hands  fall,  and  clasped  them  quietly  before  him  :  the  silence 
of  the  preacher,  however,  "  instead  of  being  the  signal  for 
small  movements  amongst  his  audience,"  seemed  to  be  as 
strong  a  spell  to  them  as  his  voice.  "  Through  the  vast  area 
of  the  cathedral  men  and  women  sat  with  faces  upturned, 
like  breathing  statues,  till  the  voice  was  heard  again  in  clear 
low  tones."    Compare  Madame  de  Sevigne's  description  of 


MUSIC  IMMORTAL. 


Coeval  with  the  heavens,  its  destiny  is  not,  like 
them,  to  wax  old,  for  that  which  decayeth  and 
waxeth  old  is  ready  to  vanish  away.  And  of 
music  it  may  be  said  that  it  abideth  and  is  eternal 
in  the  heavens  ;  for  St.  John  the  Divine  recognized 
its  divine  destiny,  when  he  heard  a  voice  from 
heaven  as  the  voice  of  many  waters,  and  as  the 
voice  of  a  great  thunder  ;  and  heard  the  voice  of 
harpers,  harping  with  their  harps,  and  singing  a 
new  song  before  the  throne.  Music  is  thus  iden- 
tified, or  at  least  inseparably  associated,  in  holy 
writ,  with  the  first  records  of  creation,  and  with  the 
last  apocalypse  of  redemption  and  glory.  It  was 
in  the  beginning,  and  it  ever  shall  be.  In  one 
sense  of  the  word  time,  music  without  time,  is  a 
thing  of  nought ;  but  in  another,  music  shall  live 
on  when  time  shall  be  no  more. 

The  music  of  the  spheres  may  be  a  poetical 
licence  only.  But  what  though  in  solemn  silence 
all  move  round  (old  style  of  cosmogony,  and  in 
Addison's  verse)  this  dark  terrestrial  ball ;  what 
though  no  real  voice  or  sound  amid  their  radiant 
orbs  be  found  ?     NHmporte: 


Father  Bourdaloue's  funeral  sermon  (in  1687)  for  M.  le 
Prince,  when  "  l'auditoire  paraissait  pendu  et  suspendu  a  tout 
ce  qu'il  disait,  d'une  telle  sorte  qu'on  ne  respirait  pas."  (Au 
Comte  Bussy,  25  avril,  1687.) 


MUSIC  OF  THE  SPHERES. 


"  In  reason's  car  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice  ; 
For  ever  singing,  as  they  shine, 
*  The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine' " 

To  the  ear,  and  in  the  judgment,  of  Sir  Thomas 
Browne,  there  is  music  wherever  there  is  harmony, 
order,  or  proportion  ;  and  thus  far  we  may,  he 
affirms,  maintain  the  music  of  the  spheres  :  "  for 
those  well-ordered  motions,  and  regular  paces, 
though  they  give  no  sound  to  the  ear,  yet  to  the 
understanding  they  strike  a  note  most  full  of  har- 
mony." Wherefore  the  poet,  of  imagination  all 
compact,  will  love  to  mark  by  moonlight  with 
Lorenzo  at  Belmont  how  the  floor  of  heaven  is 
thick  inlaid  with  patins  of  bright  gold,  and  to  per- 
suade himself  that  not  the  smallest  orb  his  upward 
gaze  takes  in, 

"  But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubim  ; 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls  ; 
But,  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  us  in,  we  cannot  hear  it." 

Pythagoras  was  enabled,  on  the  showing  of  Iam- 
blichus,  appijTco  riv\  tcai  §vazinvoi}Tw  Ouot^tl  yjpwfitvoq, 
by  an  effort  (as  Daniel  Dove  renders  it)  of  ineffable 
and  hardly  conceivable  divinity,  to  retire  into  the 
depths  of  his  own  being,  and  there  listen  to  that 
heavenly  harmony  of  the  spheres  which  to  him  alone 


IX AUDIBLE  HARM 


of  all  the  human  race  was  made  audible.  It  is  in 
pursuance  of  his  argument,  rhetorically  enforced, 
that  all  deep  things  are  Song, — it  seeming  somehow 
the  very  central  essence  of  us,  Song ;  as  if  all  the 
rest  were  but  wrappages  and  hulls ; — the  primal 
element  of  us,  and  of  all  things  ; — that  Mr.  Carlyle 
goes  on  to  say,  "  The  Greeks  fabled  of  Sphere- 
Harmonies  :  it  was  the  feeling  they  had  of  the 
inner  structure  of  Nature  ;  that  the  soul  of  all  her 
voices  and  utterances  was  perfect  music."  It  was 
reserved  for  a  latter-day  poet  to  give  expression 
to  the  non  possnmns  of  these  latter  days  : 

"  I've  heard  of  music  in  the  spheres, 
AYhich  all  men  hear  of,  all  admire, 
But  not  a  human  mortal  hears." 

Enough  of  the  inaudible,  and  the  incredible,  if  so 
it  must  be.  Pass  we  on  to  what  ear  hath  heard,  or 
may  hear,  in  a  less  questionable  and  a  more  prac- 
tical sense. 

Among  the  things  which  the  Scriptures  both  of 
the  Old  and  of  the  New  Testament  may  be  said  to 
take  for  granted  is  this,  that  man  is,  by  what  is 
human  in  him,  and  that  he  ought  to  be,  by  what  is 
divine  about  him,  a  lover  of  music.  Choral  sym- 
phonies consecrated  the  worship  of  the  Jewish 
Temple.  The  apocalypse  of  heaven,  as  foreseen 
by  the  seer  of  Patmos,  may  have  been  very  limited 
in  details,  but  at  any  rate  a  main  constituent  in  the 


DISCORD  AND  DISGUST. 


beatific  vision  is  the  throng  of  harpers  harping  with 
their  harps.     And  indeed 

"  What  know  we  of  the  blest  above, 
But  that  they  sing,  and  that  they  love?" 

A  too  one-sided  acceptance  of,  and  insistance 
upon,  this  partial  view  of  heaven,  has  done  much 
to  set  some  people,  especially  young  people, 
against  any  such  ideal  of  the  life  to  come.  They 
are  repelled  by  the  narrow  conventionalism  which 
strictly  confines  the  raptures  of  eternity  to  sitting 
upon  clouds  and  playing  on  stringed  instru- 
ments. Perhaps  they  have  been  accustomed  to 
an  extremely  rude  and  crude  type  of  church 
or  chapel  psalmody, — offensive  to  every  notion 
they  cherish  of  culture  and  sesthetical  refinement ; 
and  when  they  remember  with  what  stentorian 
zest,  bellowed  forth  as  if  by  blatant  beasts  and 
bulls  of  Bashan,  the  words  of  the  hymn  have 
deafened,  dazed,  and  distressed  them, 

"  I  have  been  there,  and  still  would  go ; 
'Tis  like  a  little  heaven  below/' — 

their  involuntary,  or  perhaps  too  voluntary,  infer- 
ence has  been,  that  if  the  greater  heaven  above  be 
really  in  this  respect  like  the  little  heaven  below, 
they,  for  their  part,  having  not  yet  been  there, 
would  almost  rather  not  go. 

Pope  has  his   Horatian   sneer  at  Hopkins  and 


io  STERNHOLD  AND  HOPKINS. 

Sternhold  who  "glad  the  heart  with  psalms,"  as 
sung  by  charity  children,  when  "the  silenced 
preacher  yields  to  potent  strain,"  and  "heaven 
is  won  by  violence  of  song."  Addison's  country 
clergyman  has  another  kind  of  grievance  con- 
nected with  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  in  the  bravura 
flourishes  of  a  fashionable  visitor  at  his  church,* 
who  startles  the  parish  from  its  propriety.  It  is 
sad,  exclaims  the  author  of  Musics  Monument,^ 

*  "  But  what  gives  us  the  most  offence  is  her  theatrical 
manner  of  singing  the  psalms.  She  introduces  about  fifty- 
Italian  airs  into  the  hundredth  psalm  ;  and  whilst  we  begin 
All  people,  in  the  old  solemn  tune  of  our  forefathers,  she,  in 
a  quite  different  key,  runs  divisions  on  the  vowels,  and  adorns 
them  with  the  graces  of  Nicolini ;  if  she  meets  with  eke  or 
aye,  which  are  frequent  in  the  metre  of  Hopkins  and  Stern- 
hold, we  are  certain  to  hear  her  quavering  them  half  a  minute 
after  us  to  some  sprightly  airs  of  the  opera."  The  good 
parson  can  assure  Mr.  Spectator  he  is  far  from  being  an 
enemy  to  church  music,  but  he  fears  this  abuse  of  it  may 
make  his  parish  ridiculous,  for  his  parishioners  already  look 
on  the  singing  psalms  as  an  entertainment,  and  not  part  of 
their  devotion. 

f  Which  Dr.  Burney  calls  a  matchless  book,  not  to  be 
forgotten  among  the  curiosities  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Southey  devotes  some  pages  to  it  in  The  Doctor.  Here 
is  a  pertinent  and  rather  piquant  specimen  of  the  manner  of 
the  man  Mace  : 

' '  That  counsel  given  by  the  Apostle  Pauj 
Does  certainly  extend  to  Christians  all. 
Colossians  the  third,  the  sixteenth  verse  ; 
(Turn  to  the  place  :)  that  text  will  thus  rehearse, 


SCREECHING   CHORISTERS. 


Thomas    Mace,    "  to    hear   what   whining,    toting, 
yelling,    or   screeching  there    is    in   many  country 


Let  the  word  of  Christ  dwell  in  you  plenteously, 
(What  follows  ?    Music  in  its  excellency. ) 
Admonishing  yourselves  in  sweet  accord, 
In  singing  psalms  with  grace  unto  the  Lord  ; 
Sed  sine  arte,  that  cannot  be  done, 
Et  sine  arte,  better  let  alone." 

Thomas  Mace  would  have  sympathized  with  the  early  con- 
tempt of  the  Italians  for  tramontane  singing,  as  expressed  by 
John  the  deacon,  and  reproduced  in  Muratori  and  Gibbon  : 
Alpina  scilicet  corpora  vocum  suarum  tonitruis  altisone  per- 
strepentia,  susceptae  modulationis  dulcedinem  proprie  non 
resultant,  etc.  And  Mace  would  have  relished  the  allusion 
in  one  of  Washington  Irving's  letters  :  "  It  is  Saturday  even- 
ing.    I  hear  a  solemn  though  rather  nasal  strain  of  melody 

from  the  kitchen.     It  is  the  good  ,  setting  his  mind  in 

tune  for  the  morrow."  And  then  the  writer  records  his  satis- 
faction at  having  brimstoned  his  cider  according  to  Uncle 
Natt's  receipt ;  it  would  stand  a  poor  chance,  otherwise, 
against  such  melody. 

The  church  music  of  Scotland  in  the  reign  of  David  the 
First  has  been  graphically  reviewed  by  his  friend  Ethelred, 
"  of  high  authority,"  says  Tytler,  who  argues  that  it  was  a 
pretty  close  imitation  of  the  English.  Ethelred  is  sarcastic 
on  "  so  many  organs  and  cymbals,"  such  "  terrible  blowing 
of  the  bellows,"  such  vocal  "  quavering  like  the  neighing  of 
horses."  He  hits  out  right  and  left  at  the  choristers,  who 
gesticulate  and  grimace  "  like  comedians  " — much  as  Hartley 
Coleridge,  in  a  racy  diatribe  on  parish  clerks  of  the  old  school 
(happily  now  all  but  extinct),  owns  to  having  been  reminded 
more  of  Punch  than  of  any  animated  comedian.  Hartley 
complains  of  the  psalmody  becoming,  in  such  hands,  as  dis- 


12  SQUALLING-BOXES  IN  CHURCH. 

:ongregations,  as  if  the  people  were  affrighted  or 
listracted."  That  is  better,  however,  than  the 
jravura  type.  The  American  Professor  at  the 
Sreakfast-table  expresses  delight  in  the  unso- 
phisticated blending  of  all  voices  and  all  hearts  in 
jne  common  song  of  praise  :  some  will  sing  a 
little  loud  perhaps,  and  now  and  then  an  impatient 
chorister  will  get  a  syllable  or  two  in  advance,  or 
an   enchanted  (not  enchanting)  singer  so  lose  all 


tracting  and  irrelevant  an  episode  as  the  jigs  and  country- 
dances  scraped  between  the  acts  of  a  tragedy. 

Mr.  Newbigging  remarks  of  the  musicians  of  Rossendale 
Forest,  in  his  topographical  history  of  that  district,  that,  far 
from  being  of  yesterday's  growth,  they  are  a  venerable  race, 
and  can  count  their  congeners  back  through  the  centuries  j 
and  although  he  allows  they  may  be  taken  at  a  disadvantage 
with  the  "  formal  and  new-fangled  squalling-boxes  which  are 
regulated  by  clockwork,  and  troll  forth  their  music  by  the 
yard,  as  a  carding-engine  measures  out  its  sliver,"  yet,  place 
before  them,  he  adds,  the  glorious  choruses  of  Handel  and 
Haydn,  and  the  creations  of  these  masters  of  harmony  find 
ready  interpreters  and  strongly-appreciative  minds.  Old- 
fashioned  folk  are  fain  to  utter  the  wish  that  it  were  every- 
where so  :  the  harmoniums  and  school-choirs  of  our  country 
villages  may  have  improved  the  church  music  of  our  time, 
but  they  have  destroyed,  through  no  inconsiderable  part  of 
England,  the  old  corporations  of  village  singers,  through 
whom  the  songs  and  ballads  of  the  country-side  had  been 
handed  down  for  centuries.  An  archaeological  critic  in  the 
Saturday  Review  supposes  that  all  this  is  quite  as  it  should 
be,  but  is  sorry  for  it  nevertheless. 


RUSTIC  CHOIRS.  13 


thought  of  time  and  place  in  the  luxury  of  a 
closing  cadence  that  he  holds  on  to  the  last  semi- 
breve  upon  his  private  responsibility;  but  "how 
much  more  of  the  spirit  of  the  old  Psalmist  in  the 
music  of  these  imperfectly  trained  voices  than  in 
the  academic  niceties  of  the  paid  performers'  who 
take  our  musical  worship  out  of  our  hands."  True 
in  spirit,  and  to  the  letter,  for  all  the  year  round — 
the  Christian  Year — is  what  Keble  says  or  sings  ir 
his  lyric  for  Palm  Sunday  : — 

"  Childlike  though  the  voices  be, 
And  untunable  the  parts, 
Thou  wilt  own  the  minstrelsy, 
If  it  flows  from  childlike  hearts." 

The  musical  mal-practice  of  rustic  choirs  has 
too  often,  however,  only  too  thoroughly  deserved 
the  satire  that  first  and  last  has  been  lavished  on 
it.  Some  of  our  best  writers  of  fiction  have  made 
a  subject  of  this  grievance  in  fact.  Mr.  Hughes,  in 
his  Tom  Brown  at  Oxford,  dilates  on  the  doings  of 
the  choir  at  the  Englebourn  parish  church  ;  how 
the  bass  viol  proceeded  thither  to  do  the  usual 
rehearsals,  and  gossip  with  the  sexton  ;  and  how 
at  the  singing  of  the  verse  which  ends  with  the 
line,  "With  dragons  stout  and  strong,"  (in  the 
ninety-first  psalm,)  which  the  gallery  sang  with 
exceptional  and  rather  exceptionable  vigour, — 
the  trebles  took  up  the  line,  and  then  the  whole 


14  UNTUNABLE,  INTRACTABLE. 

strength  of  the  gallery  chorused  again,  "  With 
dYdL-go?is  stout  and  strong,'*  and  the  bass  viol 
seemed  to  prolong  the  notes  and  to  gloat  over  them 
as  he  droned  them  out,  looking  triumphantly  at 
the  distant  curate,  whose  mild  protests  it  was  plea- 
sant thus  to  defy.  Mr.  Charles  Reade  somewhere 
introduces  to  us  a  lad  with  a  small  rustic  genius 
for  music,  which  he  illustrates  by  playing  the  cla- 
rionet in  church,  to  the  great  regret  of  the  clergy. 
So  minute  and  observant  a  recorder  of  English 
midlandshire  georgics  and  bucolics  as  George 
Eliot,  naturally  abounds  in  notices  of  a  like  sort. 
In  Felix  Holt  there  is  a  persistent  plaint,  by  one  in 
authority,  about  the  obstinate  demeanour  of  the 
singers,  who  decline  to  change  the  tunes  in  accord- 
ance with  a  change  in  the  selection  of  the  hymns, 
and  stretch  short  metre  into  long  out  of  pure  wil- 
fulness and  defiance,  irreverently  adapting  the 
most  sacred  monosyllables  to  a  multitude  of  wan- 
dering quavers.*     "  There's  no  other  music  equal 

*  "I  cannot  but  think  it  a  snare  when  a  professing  Chris- 
tian has  a  bass  voice  like  brother  Kemp's,"  says  Mr.  Nutt- 
wood,  deacon  and  grocer.  "  It  makes  him  desire  to  be  heard 
of  men  ;  but  the  weaker  song  of  the  humble  may  have  more 
power  in  the  ear  of  God."  An  outspoken  friend  retorts  upon 
the  speaker  the  query,  does  he  think  it  any  better  vanity  to 
flatter  himself  that  God  likes  to  hear  him,  though  men  don't? 
Felix  Holt  is,  indeed,  rather  flippantly  severe  upon  the  sleek 
tradesman,  whom  he  ironically  bids  "  follow  the  light  of  the 


BUCOLIC  B ASSOC X.  15 


to  the  Christmas  music — 'Hark  the  erol  angils 
sing,'"  poor  Dolly  assures  Silas  Marner ;  "And 
you  may  judge  what  it  is  at  church,  Master 
Marner,  with  the  bassoon  and  the  voices,  as  you 
can't  help  thinking  you've  got  to  a  better  place 
already."  In  the  same  book  we  come  across  a 
large  jocose-looking  man,  an  excellent  wheel- 
wright in  his  week-day  capacity,  but  on  Sunday 
leader  of  the  choir,  who  puts  down  a  recalcitrant 
with  a  jest,  winking  the  while  at  the  "  bassoon " 
and  the  "  key-bugle,"  in  the  confidence  that  he  is 
expressing  the  sense  of  the  musical  profession  in 
Raveloe.  And  in  one  of  the  Scenes  of  Clerical 
Life  we  have  a  rather  elaborate  account  of  the 
process  and  procedure  of  the  singing  at  Shep- 
perton  Church  ;  how,  as  the  moment  of  psalmody 
approached,  a  slate  appeared  in  front  of  the  gal- 
lery, advertising  in  bold  characters  the  psalm  about 
to  be  sung,  lest  the  sonorous  announcement  of  the 
clerk  should  leave  the  bucolic  mind  in  doubt  on 
that  head  ;  how  this  was  followed  by  the  migra- 
tion of  the  clerk  to  the  gallery,  where,  in  company 


old-fashioned  Presbyterians  that  I've  heard  sing  at  Glasgow. 
The  preacher  gives  out  the  tenth  psalm,  and  then  everybody 
sings  a  different  tune,  as  it  happens  to  turn  up  in  their 
throats.  It's  a  domineering  thing  to  set  a  tune,  and  expect 
everybody  else  to  follow  it.  It's  a  denial  of  private  judg- 
ment."— Felix  Holt,  chap.  xiii. 


16  ANTHEMS  AND  AMATEURS. 

with  a  bassoon,  two  key-bugles,  a  carpenter  under- 
stood to  have  an  amazing  power  of  singing 
"  counter,"  and  two  lesser  musical  stars,  he  formed 
the  complement  of  a  choir  regarded  in  Shep- 
perton  as  one  of  distinguished  attraction,  occasion- 
ally known  to  draw  hearers  from  the  next  parish. 
"  But  the  greatest  triumphs  of  the  Shepperton 
choir  were  reserved  for  the  Sundays  when  the 
slate  announced  an  Anthem,  with  a  dignified 
abstinence  from  particularisation,  both  words  and 
music  lying  Tar  beyond  the  reach  of  the  most  am- 
bitious amateurs  in  the  congregation," — an  anthem 
in  which  the  key-bugles  are  described  as  always 
running  away  at  a  great  pace,  while  the  bassoon 
every  now  and  then  boomed  a  flying  shot  after 
them. 


17 


II. 

3|ubalf0  gntoentiotw 

Genesis  iv.  21. 

MUSIC  must  have  got  some  way  beyond 
the  most  primitive  stage  of  all,*  when 
Jubal,  the  son  of  Lamech  and  Adah,  the  brother 
of  Jabal  (whose  children  are  all  such  as  dwell  in 

*  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  accepts  the  argument  of  Dr.  Burney, 
as  indeed  implied  by  the  customs  of  still  extant  barba- 
rous races,  that  the  first  musical  instruments  were,  without 
doubt,  percussive — sticks,  calabashes,  and  tomtoms ;  and 
were  used  simply  to  mark  the  time  of  the  dance  ;  and  in  this 
constant  repetition  of  the  same  sound,  we  see  music  in  its 
most  homogeneous  form.  In  his  treatise  on  the  origin  and 
function  of  music,  the  same  philosophic  writer  takes  note  of 
the  fact  that  the  dance  chants  of  savage  tribes  are  very 
monotonous,  and  in  virtue  of  their  monotony  are  much 
more  nearly  allied  to  ordinary  speech  than  are  the  songs  of 
civilized  races  (from  which,  and  cognate  facts,  he  infers  the 
original  divergence  of  vocal  music  from  emotional  speech  in 
a  gradual,  unobtrusive  manner).  Delightful  to  savage  ears 
would  be  what  is  so  horrid  to  Shakspeare's  Richard  : — 

2 


1 8  WHAT  IS  AN  OVATION? 

tents,  and  have  cattle),  and  alsp  of  Tubal  Cain, 
that  instructor  of  every  artificer  in  brass  and  iron 

"  The  harsh  resounding  trumpet's  dreadful  bray, 
With  boisterous  untuned  drums." 

Mr.  Helps  has  this  passage  in  his  story  cf  the  Lake  City  of 
the  age  of  flint :  "  At  the  end  of  the  day  there  was  a  sort  of 
ovation  in  honour  of  Realmah,  and  he  was  accompanied 
home  by  a  great  crowd,  and  with  loud  noise  of  instruments 
of  music  which  would  not  much  have  delighted  our  ears,  but 
which  were  very  pleasing  to  the  Sheviri."  One  finds  it  hard  to 
quote  without  a  mild  protest,  in  the  case  of  so  pleasing  and 
accomplished  a  writer,  a  passage  containing  the  words  "  a 
sort  of  ovation,"  remembering  how  that  word  ovation  is  used 
up  and  abused  by  penny-a-liners.  The  penny  papers  are, 
some  of  them,  above  misusing  the  poor  word  now.  One  of 
them,  in  a  special  correspondent's  letter  on  the  occasion  of 
the  reception  of  Prince  Bismarck  at  Berlin  after  the  great 
war  of  1870-71,  told  us  that  the  clerks  of  the  Foreign  Office 
gave  the  Count  "  a  kind  of  '  ovation '  "  in  the  interior  of  their 
bureau,  but  immediately  went  on  to  remark  that  the  word 
"  ovation  "  has  been  sadly  misused  of  late  years  by  careless 
writers  ;  whereas  he  claimed  to  have  not  misapplied  it  in 
connection  with  the  welcome  of  Bismarck  at  the  Foreign 
Office.  "  He  is  not  the  first  German  who  has  been  '  ovated.' 
What  said  Kaiser  Ludwig  as  he  sat  at  supper  after  the  great 
victory  at  Muhldorf-on-the- Inn,  more  than  five  hundred  years 
ago  .  .  .  with  the  valiant  Ritter  Schweppermann,  etc.  The 
country  had  been  eaten  to  the  bone,  and  the  conqueror  and 
his  captains  had  no  better  fare  than  bread  and  eggs  for 
supper;  whereat  cried  the  Kaiser,  'Jedem  Mann  ein  Ey; 
dem  frommen  Schweppermann  zwei.'  And  surely  the 
'  fromme '  Schweppermann  deserved  his  two  eggs — and  the 
1  fromme  '  Bismarck  his  to  boot."  The  application  may  be  a 
little  strained,  but  at  any  rate  the  writer  is  aware  that  an  egg 


PROGRESS  OF  MUSIC.  19 

— when  this  Jubal,  better  known  perhaps  by  name 
to  devout  lovers  of  Handel  than  to  cursory  readers 

is  a  main  ingredient  in  that  once  rare  and  dainty  dish,  an 
ovation. 

To  revert,  however,  to  ancient  music.  The  Egyptians,  we 
find,  had  a  lyre  with  three  strings  ;  the  early  lyre  of  the 
Greeks  had  four,  constituting  their  tetrachord,  and  in  course 
of  some  centuries  lyres  of  seven  and  eight  strings  were  em- 
ployed, until,  by  the  expiration  of  a  thousand  years,  they  had 
advanced  to  their  "great  system"  of  the  double  octave, 
through  all  which  changes  there  of  course  arose  a  greater 
heterogeneity  of  melody,  though  little  in  the  time,  as  yet. 
Harmony  was  then  unknown  :  the  advance  from  melody  to 
harmony  was  by  a  sudden  leap,  music  in  parts  not  being 
evolved  until  Christian  church  music  had  reached  some 
development,  when,  the  fugue  having  been  suggested  by  the 
employment  of  two  choirs  singing  alternately  the  same  air, 
with  whom  it  became  the  practice  (very  possibly  originating 
in  a  mistake)  for  the  second  choir  to,  begin  before  the  first 
had  ceased,  "  from  the  fugue  to  concerted  music  of  two,  three, 
four,  and  more  parts,  the  transition  was  easy."  Between  the 
old  monotonous  dance-chant  and  an  oratorio  of  our  own  day, 
with  its  endless  orchestral  complexities  and  vocal  combina- 
tions, an  essayist  on  the  law  and  cause  of  Progress  may  well 
pronounce  the  contrast  in  heterogeneity  to  be  so  extreme  that 
it  seems  scarcely  credible  that  the  one  should  have  been  the 
ancestor  of  the  other. 

The  clerical  interlocutor  in  Gryll  Grange,  admitting  that 
little  is  known  of  the  music  of  the  Greeks,  but  inferring  the 
unknown  from  the  known,  has  no  doubt  it  was  as  excellent  in 
its  kind  as  their  sculpture.  Another  demurs  to  that  view, 
arguing  that  they  seem  to  have  had  only  the  minor  key,  and 
to  have  known  no  more  of  counter-point  than  they  did  o 
perspective.     A  third  demurs  to  their  having  only  the  mine- 


MUSIC  OF  THE  GREEKS. 


of  the  Book  of  Genesis,  attained  the  distinction  of 
fatherhood   of  all   such   as  handle  the  harp   and 

key.  The  natural  ascent  of  the  voice,  he  remarks,  is  in  the 
major  key,  and  the  Greeks,  with  their  exquisite  sensibility  to 
sound,  could  not  have  missed  the  obvious  expression  of  cheer- 
fulness. "  With  their  three  scales,  diatonic,  chromatic,  and 
enharmonic,  they  must  have  exhausted  every  possible  ex- 
pression of  feeling."  With  all  that,  objects  Mr.  Minim,  they 
never  got  beyond  melody ;  they  had  no  harmony,  in  our 
sense  ;  they  sang  only  in  unisons  and  octaves.  His  oppo- 
nent, however,  denies  it  to  be  clear  that  they  did  not  sing  in 
fifths. 

Mr.  Grote  claims  a  powerful  ethical  effect  for  the  old 
Grecian  music.  It  wrought  much  more  movingly,  he  con- 
tends, on  the  impulses  and  resolutions  of  the  hearers,  though 
it  tickled  the  ear  less  gratefully,  than  the  scientific  composi- 
tions of  after-days.  He  shows  each  particular  style  of  music 
to  have  had  its  own  appropriate  mental  effect — the  Phrygian 
mode  imparting  a  wild  and  maddening  stimulus  ;  the  Dorian 
mode  creating  a  settled  and  deliberate  resolution,  exempt 
alike  from  the  desponding  and  from  the  impetuous  senti- 
ments. "In  the  belief  of  all  the  ancient  writers,  every 
musical  mode  had  its  own  peculiar  emotional  influences, 
powerfully  modified  the  temper  of  hearers,  and  was  intimately 
connected  with  the  national  worship." — G?'otei  History  of 
.  vol.  iii.,  pp.  288  seq.  ;  cf.  p.  297  ;  vol.  ii.,  583  seq.  ; 
vol.  viii.,  477  seq. 

Lady  Eastlake  calls  it  difficult  to  imagine  how  a  Greek 
child  could  ever  evince  its  natural  predilection  for  music — 
those  two  chief  elements  of  the  art  which  test  the  highest 
and  the  lowest  grade  of  musical  inclination,  time  and  har- 
mony, being  alike  unknown  to  them.  They  are  believed  to 
have  never  advanced  even  so  far  as  the  knowledge  of  those 
harmonious  thirds  which  little  Mozart,  when  but  three  years 


CHRISTIAN   WEST  AXD  PAG  AX  FAST.     21 

organ.     Father  Smith,  the  organist,  was  forestalled 
even  by  name. 

old,  would  strike  on  the  clavicle,  "  and  incline  his  little  head, 
smiling  to  the  harmony  of  the  vibrations."  They  seem  to 
have  either  used  music  outwardly,  on  this  dissertator's  show- 
ing, as  a  mere  sing-song  enhancement  of  that  luxurious 
pleasure  which  all  Orientals  take  in  story-telling,  or  verse- 
reciting,  or  to  have  sought  for  it  inwardly  as  an  abstract  thing 
on  which  to  try  their  powers  of  thought,  and  not  their  springs 
of  emotion  ;  for  they  are  credited  with  having  ascertained  the 
existence  of  a  deep  science  in  music  before  they  suspected  a 
deeper  instinct ;  they  studied  her  grammar  before  they  knew 
her  speech.  "  Instead  of  combining  her  tones  in  fulness  of 
harmony,  they  split  them  into  divisions  incognizable  to  our 
modern  ears/''  M.  Kiesewetter  scouts  the  preconceived  and 
deeply-rooted  opinion  that  our  present  music  has  been  per- 
fected upon  that  of  the  Greeks,  and  that  it  is  only  a  further 
continuation  of  the  same.  He  refers  to  authors  who,  even  in 
his  own  day,  talk  of  "  the  revival  of  ancient  music  in  the 
middle  ages  ;"  and,  in  refuting  their  view,  while  admitting 
that  there  was  a  period  when  the  music  of  the  Christian  West 
sought  counsel  with  that  of  the  Heathen  East,  and  when  the 
decisions  of  Greek  writers  were  looked  upon  as  the  source 
of  all  true  musical  inspiration,  he  maintains  that,  in  point 
of  fact,  the  later  music  only  prospered  in  proportion  as  she 
disengaged  herself  from  the  earlier,  and  then  first  attained 
a  certain  degree  of  perfection  when  she  had  succeeded  in 
throwing  off  the  last  fetters,  real  or  conventional,  of  old 
Hellenic  doctrine.  Even  had  ancient  Greece,  he  argues, 
continued  to  exist  for  two  thousand  years  more,  no  music,  in 
any  way  analogous  to  ours,  could  possibly  have  proceeded 
from  her.  "  The  systems  in  which  the  art  was  bound,  the 
purposes  for  which  she  was  used,  the  very  laws  of  the  State 
regarding  her,  offered  unconquerable  impediments  to  her 


DORIAN  AND   GREGORIAN. 


u  What  passion  cannot  Music  raise  and  quell  ? 
When  Jubal  struck  the  chorded  shell, 
His  listening  brethren  stood  around, 
And,  wondering,  on  their  faces  fell 

development.  The  old  Greek  music  perished  in  its  infancy, 
an  interesting  child,  but  one  predestined  never  to  arrive  at 
maturity."  And  for  the  human  race  he  pronounces  her  fall 
to  have  been  no  loss. 

It  is  certain,  affirms  the  Quarterly  essayist,  that  in  the 
Isles  of  Greece,  "  where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung," 
that  which  we  now  call  music  was  so  unknown,  that  were  old 
Timotheus  to  rise  from  the  dead,  no  change  or  development 
in  modern  civilization  would  astonish  him  so  much  as  that  in 
the  art  of  music.  "  He  would  be  delighted  with  our  post- 
office,  interested  in  our  railroads,  ashamed  of  our  oratory, 
horrified  at  our  public  buildings,  but  dumbfounded  at  our 
musical  festivals." 

Haply,  however,  even  old  Timotheus  redivivus  would  stand 
up  for  the  melody  of  his  native  land.  Thomson  is  strenuous 
to  hail  in  Hellenic  melody  a  melody  indeed  : — 

"  The  sweet  enforcer  of  the  poet's  strain, 
Thine  was  the  meaning  music  of  the  heart. 
Not  the  vain  trill,  that,  void  of  passion,  runs 
In  giddy  mazes,  tickling  idle  ears  ; 
But  that  deep-searching  voice,  and  artful  hand, 
To  which  respondent  shakes  the  varied  soul." 

The  allusion  here  is,  as  commentators  remind  us,  to  the  tones 
known  as  the  Dorian,  Phrygian,  Lydian,  etc.,  upon  which  St. 
Ambrose  founded  what  are  called  the  "authentic"  eccle- 
siastical tones,  the  Gregorian,  as  finally  settled  in  their  pre- 
sent form,  and  set  to  the  Psalms  of  David,  by  St.  Gregory 
the  Great.  M.  Jannsen,  in  his  Vrais  Principes  du  Chant 
Gregorie?i,  says  of  St.  Ambrose,  "  C'est  en  modifiant  le  sys- 
teme  des  tetrachordes  grecs  qu'il  conserva  leur  quatre  modes 


EXECUTIVE  DISPLAY. 


To  worship  that  celestial  sound  : 
Less  than  a  God  they  thought  there  could  not  dwell 
Within  the  hollow  of  that  shell, 
That  spoke  so  sweetly  and  so  well." 

le  plus  ge'ne'ralement  re*pandus,  en  assimilant  son  premier  ton 
au  mode  Dorien,  son  deuxieme  au  mode  Phrygien,  son  troi- 
sieme  au  mode  Lydien,  et  son  quatrieme  au  mode  Mixolidien." 
Thomson's  tribute  to  ancient  melody  and  expression,  in  con- 
trast to  modern  display  of  execution,  is  seconded  again  and 
again  by  Mr.  Peacock,  to  whose  taste  a  simple  accompani- 
ment, in  strict  subordination  to  the  melody,  is  so  much  more 
agreeable  than  that  "  Niagara  of  sound  under  which  it  is 
now  the  fashion  to  bury  it."  His  Miss  Tenorina  and  Miss 
Graziosa  enchant  the  company  at  Headlong  Hall  with  some 
very  scientific  compositions,  which,  as  usual,  excite  admiration 
and  astonishment  in  every  one,  without  a  single  particle  of 
genuine  pleasure. 

"  Avaunt,  the  scientific  squall — 
*  I  hate  it — nature  hates  it  all — 
But  lo  !  'tis  science  and  the  ton,  I  find," 

exclaims  and  complains  and  explains  Dr.  Wolcot.  There  is 
a  fair  widow  in  one  of  Mrs.  Gore's  fictions  who  is  described 
advisedly  as  a  "  tremendous  "  musician,  for  such  prodigies  of 
execution  as  hers  inspire  the  listener  with  awe,  unmixed  with 
any  pleasanter  sensation.  "  A  squadron  of  Prussian  dragoons 
galloping  up  and  down  the  piano  would  not  have  produced 
greater  execution."  The  scale  of  her  voice  enabling  her  to 
sing  the  Queen  of  Night  music  in  the  Zauberflote,  this  lady 
not  only  undertakes  it  in  its  entirety,  but  whenever  any 
supremely  difficult  and  frightful  bravura  is  inflicted  upon  the 
musical  world,  she  is  sure  to  get  it  by  heart,  and  astonish 
even  orchestras  and  professors.  "  Such  exhibitions  in  private 
life  ought,  in  my  opinion,  to  be  put  down  by  act  of  parliament. 
Not  one  person  in  two  hundred  but  finds  them  insupport- 


24  "FINE  SLEIGHTS   OF  HAND" 

Milton  has  a  memorable  passage  descriptive  of 
what  Adam,  under  Michael's  guidance,  foresees 
and  hears,  of  the  paulo-post-future  doings  of  his 
more  immediate  posterity  :  he  hears  the  sound  of 
instruments  that  make  melodious  chime, — of  harp 
and  organ  ;  and  Tubal, 


able  ;  and  when  Lady  G.,  led  away  by  her  wild  enthusiasm, 
was  indulging  in  her  vocal  or  instrumental  skirmishing,  the 
country  gentlemen  used  to  look  absolutely  panic-struck." 
Mr.  Hullah  has  some  not  uncalled-for  strictures  on  the  often 
grievously  misdirected  labour  of  amateur  musicians,  who 
attempt  to  do  at  their  leisure  what  can  only  be  done  success- 
fully when  made  the  business  of  a  life.  And  he  holds  that 
one  of  the  first  evidences  of  reformation  in  amateur  music 
would  be  the  study  of  compositions  having  an  interest  and 
beauty  of  their  own,  independent  of  any  which  they  owe  to 
the  executive  skill  of  those  who  perform  them.  For  though 
very  difficult  music  is  sometimes  very  fine  music,  it  by  no 
means  follows,  he  cautions  the  unwary,  that  fine  music  is 
always  difficult ;  on  the  contrary,  a  vast  number  of  musical 
compositions  of  the  very  highest  order  of  invention  and 
science,  though  susceptible  of  increased  effect  from  the  exer- 
cise upon  them  of  increased  skill,  yet  dema?id  for  their  exe- 
cution positively  but  little. 

Mrs.  Browning's  Aurora  Leigh  is  quite  a  representative 
young  woman  in  at  least  one  stage  of  her  culture  : — 

"  I  learnt  much  music — such  as  would  have  been 
As  quite  impossible  in  Johnson's  day 
As  still  it  might  be  wished— fine  sleights  of  hand 
And  unimagined  fingering,  shuffling  off 
The  hearer's  soul  through  hurricanes  of  notes 
To  a  noisy  Tophet" 


A   MASTER   OF  FUGUE-PLAYIXG.  25 

"  who  moved 
Their  stops  and  chords,  was  seen ;  his  volant  touch 
Instinct  through  all  proportions,  low  and  high, 
Fled  and  pursued  transverse  the  resonant  fugue." 

The  Hebrew  tiggab,  which  in  our  version  is  Eng- 
lished organ,  was  scarcely  the  instrument  for 
elaborate  fugue-playing  ;  more  accurately  perhaps 
it  might  be  called  the  ancient  shepherd's  pipe,  cor- 
responding most  nearly,  Jahn  instructs  us,  to  the 
avpijK,  or  the  pipe  of  Pan  among  the  Greeks ; — 
consisting  at  first  of  only  one  or  two,  it  afterwards 
comprised  about  seven  pipes,  made  of  reeds,  and 
differing  from  each  other  in  length  ;  and  the  in- 
strument called  mashrokitha,  used  in  Babylon, 
Dan.  iii.  5,  appears  to  have  been  of  a  similar  con- 
struction. Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day,  any 
more  than  the  cathedral  organ.  But  to  the  uggab 
of  Jubal  is  presumably  to  be  traced  the  first  stage 
of  that  noble  instrument  upon  which  the  resonant 
fugue,  in  full  flight  and  pursuit,  has  been  played 
with  volant  touch.  Master  Hugues,  of  Saxe-Gotha, 
in  the  act  of  playing  one,  is  he  not  the  subject  of 
a  characteristic  study  by  Mr.  Robert  Browning  ? 
What  does  he  mean  by  his  mountainous  fugues, — 
he,  the  poor  organist,  Hugues,  the  composer  of 
note — dead  though,  and  done  with,  this  many  a 
year.  Mark  the  exposition,  for  there's  meaning 
in  it : — 


26  ANALYSIS  OF  A   FUGUE. 

"  First,  you  deliver  your  phrase 
— Nothing  propound,  that  I  see, 
Fit  in  itself  for  much  blame  or  much  praise — 
Answered  no  less,  where  no  answer  need  be  : 
'    Off  start  the  Two  on  their  ways  ! 

"  Straight  must  a  Third  interpose, 

Volunteer  needlessly  help — 
In  strikes  a  Fourth,  a  Fifth  thrusts  in  his  nose, 

So  the  cry's  open,  the  kennel's  a-yelp, 
Argument's  hot  to  the  close  ! 

"  One  dissertates,  he  is  candid — 

Two  must  discept, — has  distinguish'd. 
Three  helps  the  couple,  if  ever  yet  man  did  : 

Four  protests ;  Five  makes  a  dart  at  the  thing  wish'd- 
Back  to  One,  goes  the  case  bandied. 

"  One  says  his  say  with  a  difference — 

More  of  expounding,  explaining  : 
All  now  is  wrangle,  abuse,  and  vociferance — 

Now  there's  a  truce,  all's  subdued,  self-restraining — 
Five,  though,  stands  out  all  the  stiffer  hence. 

"  One  is  incisive,  corrosive — 

Two  retorts,  nettled,  curt,  crepitant — 
Three  makes  rejoinder,  expansive,  explosive — 

Four  overbears  them  all,  strident  and  strepitant — 
Five  .  .  .  .  O  Danaides,  O  Sieve  ! 

"  Now  they  ply  axes  and  crowbars — 
Now  they  prick  pins  at  a  tissue 
Fine  as  a  skein  of  the  casuist  Escobar's 

Work'd  on  the  bone  of  a  lie.     To  what  issue  ? 
Where  is  our  gain  at  the  Two-bars  ? 

*  Est  FUGA,  volvitur  rota  ! 

On  we  drift.     Where  looms  the  dim  port  ? 
One,  Two,  Three,  Four,  Five,  contribute  their  quota — 

Something  is  gain'd,  if  one  caught  but  the  import — 
Show  it  us,  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha  ! " 


TWO  BRISTOL  ORGANISTS,  27 

So  the  fugue  broadens  and  thickens,  greatens  and 
deepens  and  lengthens  :  u  if  one  caught  but  the 
import,"  is  too  often  said  of  Mr.  Browning's  own 
voluntaries.  But  even  those  who  most  consciously 
fail  to  catch  it,  in  his  case,  will  hardly  fail  to  ad- 
mire his  gift  of  word-painting  as  applied  to  a 
sister-art,  or  to  find  piquancy  in  the  whimsical 
devices  of  his  Hudibrastic  rhymes. 

Given  a  good  organ,  there  lacks  another  good 
gift,  and  that  is  an  efficient  organist.  A  Hugues 
of  Saxe-Gotha  is  not  always,  or  often,  to  be  had 
for  the  asking,  any  more  than  a  Browning  to  sound 
his  praise.  Chatterton  has  pointed  the  distinction 
sharply  enough  between  a  Broderip  and  an  Allen 
at  the  same  finger-board.  In  the  instance  of  the 
former,  essaying  a  fugue,  "  the  flying  band  in  swift 
transition  hops  through  all  the  tortured,  vile  bur- 
lesque of  stops  ;  sacred  to  sleep  ....  dull  doleful 
diapasons  die  away.  .  .  .  The  vicar  slumbers,  and 
the  snore  goes  round,  whilst  Broderip  at  his  passive 
organ  groans  through  all  his  slow  variety  of  tones. 

"  How  unlike  Allen  !     Allen  is  divine  .... 
He  keeps  the  passion  with  the  sound  in  play, 
And  the  soul  trembles  with  the  trembling  key."  * 


*  When  it  was  Broderip's  turn  to  be  at  the  organ,  the 
disappointed  and  utterly  dissatisfied  listener,  regretful  of  the 
absent,  might  feel  and  say  with  a  French  poet,  though  not  in 
his  sense, — 


28  FROM  DANTE   TO  MILTON. 

There  was  a  Te  Dcinn  laiidamus  Dante  though: 
he  heard,  in  another  world,  in  accents  blendce 
with  sweet  melody :  the  strains  came  o'er  his  eai 
even  as  the  sound  of  choral  voices,  that  in  solemn 
chant  with  organ  mingle,  and,  now  high  and  clear, 
come  swelling,  now  float  indistinct  away.  Mr. 
Cary,  in  his  note  on  the  passage,  quotes  Cassio- 
dorus  on  the  150th  Psalm,  and  Tiraboschi,  to 
show  that  organs  were  used  in  Italy  as  early 
as  the  sixth  century,  adding,  "  If  I  remember 
right,  there  is  a  passage  in  the  Emperor  Julian's 
writings  which  shows  that  the  organ  was  not  un- 
known in  his  time."  By  Abelard's  time  the 
instrument  was  sufficiently  improved,  and  appre- 
ciated, to  warrant  the  allusion  by  Pope's  Eloisa  to 
their  moving  and  exalting  strain :  "  And  swelling 
organs  lift  the  rising  soul."  Milton  was  but  ex- 
pressing in  noblest  diction  what  had  been  felt  by 
cathedral  worshippers  for  centuries  past,  when  he 
penned  that  pensive  aspiration  of  his,  to  hear  the 
pealing  organ  blow,  to  the  full-voiced  choir  below, 
in  service  high,  and  anthem  clear,  as  might  with 

"  La  main  n'^tait  plus  la,  qui,  vivant  et  jetant 

Le  bruit  par  tous  les  pores, 
Tout  a  l'heure  pressait  le  clavier  palpitant 

Plein  de  notes  sonores, 
Et  les  faisait  jaillir  sous  son  doigt  souverain 

Qui  se  crispe  et  s'allonge, 
Et  ruisseler  le  long  des  grands  tubes  d'airain,"  etc 


HEBREW  CHURCH  MUSIC.  29 

sweetness,    through    his    ear,    dissolve    him     into 
ecstasies,  and  bring  all  heaven  before  his  eyes. 

To  the  cathedral  organ  in  its  present  plenitude 
of  power  may  be  applied  the  lines  intended  by  the 
Ettrick  Shepherd  for  another  instrument : — 

"  What  would  old  Patriarch  Jubal  say  to  this — 
The  father  of  the  sweetest  moving  art 
E'er  compassed  by  man  ? — O  be  his  name 
Revered  for  aye  !     Methinks  I  see  the  sire, 
With  filaments  of  bark,  or  plaited  thongs,     x 
Stretch'd  on  a  hurdle,  in  supreme  delight, 
Bumming  and  strumming  at  his  infant  science, 
Whilst  the  seraphic  gleaming  of  his  eye 
Gave  omen  of  that  world  of  harmony, 
Then  in  its  embryo  stage,  form'd  to  combine 
The  holy  avocations  of  mankind, 
**        And  his  delights,  with  those  of  angels." 

Cotton  Mather  argues  that  the  instrumental  music 
used  in  the  old  church  of  Israel  was  an  institution 
of  God,  the  instruments  being  explicitly  called  His 
instruments  ;  but  that  as  not  one  word  of  institu- 
tion is  to  be  found  in  the  New  Testament  for 
instrumental  music  in  the  worship  of  God,  and 
that  because  He  "rejects  all  He  does  not  com- 
mand in  His  worship,  He  now  therefore  in  effect 
says  to  us,  /  will  not  hear  the  melody  of  thy  organs." 
And  the  old  New  England  divine  caps  his  argu- 
ment by  the  query, — If  we  admit  instrumental 
music  in  the  worship  of  God,  how  can  we  resist 
the  imposition  of  all  the  instruments  used  among 


30  FROM  CHURCH  TO   TAVERN. 

the  ancient  Jews  ?  "  Yea,  dancing  as  well  as  play- 
ing, and  several  other  Judaic  actions  ? "  The 
Puritans  in  Old  England,  while  their  political 
supremacy  lasted,  acted  upon  what  South ey  calls 
"this  preposterous  opinion,"  by  selling  the  Church 
organs,  without  being  scrupulous  concerning  the 
uses  to  which  they  might  be  applied — some  being 
set  up  in  taverns,  where,  in  the  words  of  a  writer 
of  that  age,  who  is  speaking  of  the  prevalence  of 
drunkenness,  as  a  national  vice,  the  topers  chanted 
"  their  dithyrambics  and  bestial  bacchanalia  to  the 
tune  of  those  instruments  which  were  wont  to  assist 
them  in  the  celebration  of  God's  praises,  and  regu- 
late the  voices  of  the  worst  singers  in  the  world — 
which  are  the  English  in  their  churches  at  pre- 
sent"* 

*  It  cannot  be  supposed,  as  Southey  observes  in  the  Doctor, 
where  (and  whence)  this  passage  is  quoted,  that  the  organs 
thus  disposed  of  were  instruments  of  any  great  cost  or  value. 
Thirty  shillings  was  the  price  of  one  sold  in  1565,  which  be- 
longed to  Lambeth  Church ;  and  Mr.  Denne,  the  antiquary, 
says  of  the  organs  generally  in  country  parish  churches, 
"  that  they  might  more  properly  have  been  termed  a  box  of 
whistles."  A  pair  of  organs  was  the  term  then  in  use,  mean- 
ing a  set ;  so,  a  pair  of  cards,  for  a  pack.  Sir  Thomas  Over- 
buys character  of  a  Puritan  includes  this  item  :  "  A  paire  of 
organs  blow  him  out  o'  the  parish,  and  are  the  only  glister- 
pipes  to  coole  him."  Butler  is  flinging  in  the  same  direction 
when  his  Hudibras  is  made  to  exclaim,  in  rhymes  sui 
generis, 


THE   ORGAN  APOSTROPHIZED.  31 

At  the  opening  (or,  as  modern  high-polite 
stylists  have  it,  the  "inauguration")  of  the  organ 
at  Don  caster  parish  church,  in  1739, — the  cost 
having  been  five  hundred  guineas, — a  sermon  was 
preached  for  the  occasion  by  the  then  curate,  Mr. 
Fawkes,  in  which,  after  having  rhetorized  in  praise 
of  sacred  music,  and  touched  upon  the  cornet, 
flute,  harp,  sackbut,  psaltery,  dulcimer,  and  all 
kinds  of  instruments,  he  turned  to  the  organ,  and 
apostrophised  it  thus  :  "  But  O  what — O  what — 
what  shall  I  call  thee  by  ?  thou  divine  box  of 
sounds  !"  Possibly  Dryden's  note  of  interrogation 
was  ringing  in  his  ears  : — 

"  Are  things  of  superstitious  function 
Fit  to  be  used  in  gospel  sunshine  ? 
It  is  an  antichristian  opera, 
Much  used  in  midnight  times  of  popery." 

It  was  a  new  sensation  for  Londoners  to  listen  to  the 
Abbey  organs  in  the  year  of  the  Restoration.  Pepys  writes  in 
November,  1660 :  "  I  went  to  the  Abbey,  where  the  first  time 
that  I  ever  heard  the  organs  in  a  cathedral."  The  taverns 
had  latterly  been  more  in  their  way,  and  in  his.  A  month 
later,  on  the  penultimate  day  of  that  memorable  year,  he 
writes  again  in  his  diary  :  "  I  to  the  Abbey,  and  walked 
there,  seeing  the  great  confusion  of  people  that  come  there 
to  hear  the  organs." 

As  Overbury  gives  in  detail  the  Character  of  a  Puritan,  so 
does  he  of  a  Precisian  ;  and,  organically  speaking,  it  is  a 
distinction  without  a  difference  ;  for  of  the  latter  we  read : 
"  He  thinkes  every  organist  is  in  the  state  of  damnation, 
and  had  rather  heare  one  of  Robert  Wisdomes  psalms,  than 
the  best  hymne  a  cherubin  can  sing." 


32  STORMY  DIAPASON. 

"  But  oh  !  what  art  can  teach, 

What  human  voice  can  reach 
The  sacred  organ's  praise  ? 

Notes  inspiring  holy  love, 
Notes  that  wing  their  heavenly  ways 

To  mend  the  choirs  above." 

The  historian  of  the  Dutch  Republic,  describing 
Antwerp  Cathedral  as  a  sacred  island  in  the 
tumultuous  main  (for  so  appears  the  church, 
"with  the  noisy  streets  of  the  metropolis  eddying 
around  its  walls"),  makes  of  it  a  forest,  each  shaft 
of  which  rose  to  a  preternatural  height,  while  the 
rank  vegetation  and  the  fantastic  zoology  of  a 
fabulous  world  seemed  to  decorate  and  to  animate 
the  serried  trunks  and  pendent  branches  ;  and  then 
he  adds,  that  the  "shattering  symphonies  or  dying 
murmurs  of  the  organ  suggested  the  rushing  of  the 
wind  through  the  forest — now  the  full  diapason  of 
the  storm,  and  now  the  gentle  cadence  of  the  even- 
ing breeze."  The  gusty  organ,  Leigh  Hunt  calls 
it:— 

"  For  ever  and  anon  there  roll'd 
The  gusty  organ  manifold, 
Like  a  golden  gate  of  heaven 
On  its  hinges  angel-driven 
To  let  through  a  storm  and  weight 
Of  its  throne's  consenting's  state  [sic]  ; 
Till  the  dreadful  grace  withdrew 
Into  breath  serene  as  dew, 
Comforting  the  ascending  hymn 
With  notes  of  softest  seraphim.,, 


ELIA  IN  THE  ABBEY.  33 

Elia,  amid  his  avowals  of  "  no  ear"  for  music,  is 

fain  to  recall  the  times,  five-and-thirty  years  before, 

when  solemn   anthems   struck  upon  his   heedless 

ear,  as  he  rambled  in  the  side-aisles  of  the  dim 

abbey — waking  a  new  sense,  and  putting  a  soul  of 

old    religion*  into   his   young   apprehension, — the 

anthem  being  perhaps  that  in  which  the  Psalmist, 

weary  of  the  persecutions  of  bad  men,  wisheth  to 

himself  dove's  wings — or  that  which,  with  a  like 

measure  of  sobriety  and  pathos,  inquireth  by  what 

means  the  young  man  shall  best  cleanse  his  way. 

So  listening,  "  I  am  for  the  time,"  says  Elia,  "  rapt 

above  earth,  and  possess  joys  not  promised  at  my 

birth."     In  Dr.  Holland's  words  :— 

"  Absorbed,  entranced,  as  one  who  sits  alone  t 
Within  a  dim  cathedral,  and  resigns 


*  In  Lamb  a  something  deeper  and  sincerer  than  in 
Byron's  flippant  promise  :  "  When  I  turn  thirty,  I  will  turn 
devout  :  I  feel  a  great  vocation  that  way  in  Catholic 
churches,  and  when  I  hear  the  organ."  (To  John  Murray, 
1817.) 

t  The  lonesomeness  of  the  listener  is  a  particular  that 
tempts  to  further  illustration, — be  the  organ  strain  an  act  of 
public  worship,  while  he  who  listens  is  an  outsider,  or  be  it 
a  mere  incident  of  private  practice  on  the  performer's  part. 
Mr.  Dallas  pictures  Milton's  father  (who  was  composer  as 
well  as  scrivener)  seated  at  the  organ,  after  he  has  tied  up 
his  parchments,  and  filling  the  house  with  strains  to  which 
it  is  not  less  accustomed  than  to  the  sound  of  law  Latin  and 
the  smell  of  skins  and  pounce.     "  As  the  foot-passenger  goes 


34  STIRRING  HARMONIES. 

His  spirit  to  the  organ-theme,  that  mounts 
Or  sinks  in  tremulous  pauses,  or  sweeps  out 
On  mighty  pinions,  and  with  trumpet  voice 
Through  labyrinthine  harmonies,  at  last 


by  the  house,  which  bears  the  sign  of  the  Spread  Eagle, 
taken  from  the  Milton  Arms,  he  perhaps  stops  to  listen,  as 
he  listened  to  the  uproarious  crew  of  the  Mermaid,  and  if  he 
is  at  all  musical  he  recognizes  the  air  as  sung  last  Sunday 
in  the  parish  church — the  tune  called  York,  of  which  Master 
Milton  was  the  composer,  which  half  the  nurses  of  England 
used  afterwards  to  chant  by  way  of  lullaby,  and  which  the 
country  churches  rung  in  their  chimes  full  many  times  a 
day." — One  of  Lord  Lytton's  most  elaborately  depicted 
"  characters,"  a  guilty  and  sad-hearted  man,  is  startled  in 
the  deepening  twilight  by  a  strain  from  church-organ  stealing 
upon  the  silence  with  its  swelling  and  solemn  note;  and 
there  was,  we  read,  something  in  the  strain  of  this  sudden 
music  that  was  so  kindred  with  the  holy  repose  of  the  scene, 
and  that  chimed  so  exactly  to  the  chord  now  vibrating  in  the 
listeners  mind,  that  it  struck  upon  him  at  once  with  an 
irresistible  power;  and  he  paused  abruptly,  "as  if  an  angel 
spoke."  That  sound,  so  peculiarly  adapted  to  express  sacred 
and  unearthly  emotion,  none  who  have  ever  mourned  or 
deeply  sinned  can  hear,  "  at  an  unlooked-for  moment,  with- 
out a  certain  sentiment  that  either  subdues,  or  elevates,  or 
awes."  For  it  brings  back  boyhood,  and  the  church  associa- 
tions of  an  innocent  past — of  a  past  innocence.  Balzac  tells 
us  of  the  French  officer  who  thus  listens,  in  his  Histoire  des 
Treizc,  that  "  les  sensations  que  lui  causerent  les  differents 
morceaux  execute's  par  la  religieuse,  sont  du  petit  nombre  de 
choses  dont  l'expression  est  interdite  a  la  parole,  et  la  rend 
impuissante,  mais  qui,  semblables  a  la  mort,  a  Dieu,  a 
Te'ternite',  ne  peuvent  s'appre'cier  que  dans  le  leger  point  de 
contact  qu'elles  ont  avec  les  hommes." 


LONESOME  LISTENERS.  35 

Emerging,  and  through  silver  clouds  of  sound 
Receding  and  receding,  till  it  melts 
Into  the  empyrean,  and  is  lost." 


Quite  early  in  the  opening  of  James  Grahame's  once 
popular  poem,  which  still  has  readers  north  of  the  Tweed, 
there  is  a  picture  of  a  sick  man  on  his  couch,  whose  ear  is 
gladdened  by  overheard  notes  of  the  church  organ,  swelling 
into  a  diapason  full,  "and  now  the  tubes  a  softened  stop 
controls." 

"  Again  the  organ-peal,  loud,  rolling,  meets 
The  hallelujahs  of  the  choir.     Sublime 
A  thousand  notes  symphoniously  ascend, 
As  if  the  whole  were  one,  suspended  high 
In  air,  soar  heavenward  ;  afar  they  float, 
Wafting  glad  tidings  to  the  sick  man's  couch  : 
Raised  on  his  arm,  he  lists  the  cadence  close, 
Yet  thinks  he  hears  it  still  :  his  heart  is  cheer' d  ; 
He  smiles  on  death  ;  but  ah  !  a  wish  will  rise — 
'  Would  I  were  now  beneath  that  echping  roof ! ' " 

We  all  remember  the  gentle  organist  in  the  Story  of  La 
Roche — how  the  English  philosopher  and  sceptic  was  touched 
as  he  listened — how  the  music  paused,  ceased,  and  the 
sobbing  of  the  player  was  heard  in  its  stead.  Some,  again, 
may  recall  a  chapter  in  Gait's  Omen,  where  the  listener  is 
strangely  thrilled  in  every  fibre  by  an  organ  strain  of  en- 
chanting power,  overheard  by  him  in  his  stray  wanderings. 
Or,  more  recently,  the  surprised  weekday  voluntaries  of  Tom 
Pinch.  Or,  yet  later,  Clara  Talboys  overheard  playing  a 
theme  of  Mendelssohn's,  the  dreary  sadness  of  which  goes 
straight  to  Robert  Audley's  heart.  How  often  Mendelssohn 
himself  might  have  been  thus  overheard,  playing  on  the 
organ  in  Swiss  and  other  village  churches,  far  on  into  the 
twilight,  his  letters  from  Italy  and  Switzerland  amply  show. 

Wordsworth  has  his  Cambridge  sketch  of  himself  with 


36  LISTENING  OUTSIDERS. 

Balzac  pronounces  the  organ  to  be,  "certes,  le 
plus  grand,  le  plus  audacieux,   le  plus  magnifique 

careless  ostentation  shouldering  up  his  surplice,  as  through 
the  inferior  throng  he  clove 

"  Of  the  plain  burghers,  who  in  audience  stood 
On  the  last  skirts  of  their  permitted  ground, 
Under  the  pealing  organ." 

Higher  in  tone  and  scope,  in  musical  feeling  and  musical 
expression,  is  Mr.  Tennyson's  simile — 

"  As  one  that  museth  where  broad  sunshine  laves 
The  lawn  by  some  cathedral,  through  the  door 

Hearing  the  holy  organ  rolling  waves 
Of  sound  on  roof  and  floor 

Within,  and  anthem  sung,  is  charm' d  and  tied 
To  where  he  stands." 

Geoffrey  Crayon  is  an  outsider  at  an  evening  service  in 
the  Abbey,  heard  faintly  and  afar  off;  a  hush  ensues  ;  still- 
ness, desertion,  and  obscurity  gradually  prevailing  around, 
give  a  deeper  and  more  solemn  interest  to  the  place  ;  when 
suddenly  the  notes  of  the  deep -labouring  organ  burst  upon 
the  ear  of  the  lingering  solitary,  falling  with  doubled  and  re- 
doubled intensity,  and  rolling,  as  it  were,  huge  billows  of 
sound.  How  well,  muses  the  transatlantic  wayfarer,  do  their 
volume  and  grandeur  accord  with  that  mighty  building, — 
swelling  with  pomp  through  its  vast  vaults,  and  breathing 
their  awful  harmony  through  those  caves  of  death,  making 
the  silent  sepulchre  vocal  !  "  And  now  they  rise  in  trium- 
phant acclamation,  heaving  higher  and  higher  their  accordant 
notes,  and  piling  sound  on  sound.  And  now  they  pause,  and 
the  soft  voices  of  the  choir  break  out  into  sweet  gushes  of 
melody  ;  they  soar  aloft,  and  warble  along  the  roof,  and 
seem  to  play  about  those  lofty  vaults  like  the  pure  airs  of 
heaven.      Again    the    pealing    organ    heaves    its    thrilling 


ABBEY  AND   VILLAGE  CHURCH.  37 

de  tous  les  instruments  cre<£s  par  le  genie  human." 
He  recognizes  in  it  an  entire  orchestra,  from  which 

thunders,  compressing  air  into  music,  and  rolling  it  forth 
upon  the  soul.  What  long-drawn  cadences  !  What  solemn 
sweeping  concords  !  It  grows  more  and  more  dense  and 
powerful — it  fills  the  vast  pile,  and  seems  to  jar  the  very 
walls — the  ear  is  stunned — the  senses  are  overwhelmed. 
And  now  it  is  winding  up  in  full  jubilee — it  is  rising  from  the 
earth  to  heaven — the  very  soul  seems  rapt  away  and  floated 
upwards  on  the  swelling  tide  of  harmony."  Naturally  the 
sketcher  sits  for  some  time  lost  in  that  kind  of  reverie  which 
a  strain  of  such  music  is  apt  to  inspire,  while  the  shadows 
of  evening  thicken  around  him,  and  the  monuments  cast  a 
deeper  and  deeper  gloom. 
Alexander  Smith  has  a  figure  of  one  who 

"  Stood  tranced  and  mute  as  savage  at  the  door 
Of  rich  cathedral  where  the  organ  rolls, 
And  all  the  answering  choirs  awake  at  once." 

William  Hazlitt  remembers  strolling  once  along  the  margin 
of  a  stream  in  a  low  sheltered  valley  on  Salisbury  Plain, 
near  to  a  little  parish  church,  hidden  from  his  sight  by  tall 
elms  and  quivering  elders,  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  was 
startled  by  the  sound  of  the  full  organ  pealing  on  the  ear, 
accompanied  by  rustic  voices,  and  the  willing  choir  of  village 
maids  and  children.  It  rose,  indeed,  as  the  rapt  listener 
describes  it,  "like  an  exhalation  of  rich  distilled  perfumes/' 
To  his  thinking,  to  his  feeling,  the  dew  from  a  thousand  pas- 
tures was  gathered  in  its  softness ;  the  silence  of  a  thousand 
years  spoke  in  it.  "It  came  upon  the  heart  like  the  calm 
beauty  of  death  :  fancy  caught  the  sound,  and  faith  mounted 
on  it  to  the  skies.  It  filled  the  valley  like  a  mist,  and  still 
poured  out  its  endless  chant,  and  still  it  swells  upon  the  ear, 
and  wraps  me  in  a  golden  trance,  drowning  the  noisy  tumult 


38  BALZAC  ON  THE  ORGAN. 

a  deft  hand  can  ask  whatever  it  will,  and  which 
can  express  anything,  everything.  He  calls  it  a 
sort  of  pedestal,  upon  which  the  soul  se  pose  pour 
s'elancer  into  space,  when,  in  her  flight,  she  essays 
to  trace  out  a  thousand  pictures,  to  paint  life,  to 
expatiate  in  the  infinite  which  separates  heaven 
from  earth.  The  oftener  a  poet  gives  ear  to  the 
organ's  gigantesques  harmonies,  the  more  clearly, 
says  this  writer,  he  perceives  that  between  the 
human  worshippers  on  their  knees  and  the  hidden 
God  there  is  a  distance  best  travelled  by  the  hun- 
dred voices  of  the  choir,  les  cJiants  qui  altement  avec 
le  tonnerre  des  orgnes.  And  eloquently  he  dilates 
on  a  great  and  impassioned  player's  "fugues 
flexibles  du  delire,"  and  then  "molles  ondulations" 
of  music  that,  tint  by  tint,  takes  tine  conleur  de 
tristesse  profonde.  Anon,  "  les  echos  verserent  les 
chagrins  a  torrents.  Enfin  tout  a  coup  les  hautes 
notes  firent  detonner  un  concert  de  voix  angel- 
iques.  .  .  .  Vint  XAmen.  La,  plus  de  joie  ni  des 
larmes  dans  les  airs  ;  ni  melancholie,  ni  regrets. 
UAmen  fut  un  retour  a  Dieu  ;  ce  dernier  accord 
fut  grave,  solemnel,  terrible ;  ...  les  derniers 
grondements  des  basses  firent  fremir  les  auditeurs, 
jusque  dans  leurs  cheveux.  .  .  .  Ouand  les  airs 
eurent,  par  degres,  cesse  leurs   vibrations  oscilla- 

of  the  world."  So  muses  the  fervid  rhapsodist  in  his  essay 
on  the  moot  question,  why  distant  objects  please. 


SOARING  STRAINS.  39 

toires,  vous  eussiez  dit  que  l'eglise,  jusque-la  lumi- 
neuse,  rentrait  dans  une  obscurite  profonde." 

A  poetess's  Vision  of  Poets  has  its  music  for  the 
ear  as  well,  strains  in  high  and  higher  mood,  and 
the  strain  we  hear  is  in  the  higher  : — 

"  A  strain  more  noble  than  the  first  mused  in 

the  organ,  and  outburst. 
With  giant  march,  from  floor  to  roof  rose  the  full  notes, — 

now  parted  off  in  pauses  massively  aloof, 
Like    measured    thunders, — now  rejoined    in    concords    of 

mysterious  kind,  which  fused  together  sense  and  mind, — 
Now  flashing  sharp  on  sharp  along  exultant,  in   a  mounting 

throng,  now  dying  off  to  a  low  song 
Fed  upon  minors  ! — warlike  sounds   re-eddying  into  silver 

rounds,  enlarging  liberty  with  bounds, 
And  every  rhythm  that  seemed  to  close,  survived  in  confluent 

under-flows,  symphonious  with  the  next  that  rose. 
Thus  the  whole  strain  being  multiplied  and  greatened — with 

its  glorified  wings  shot  abroad  from  side  to  side, — 
Waved  backward  (as  a  mist  might  wave  a  Brocken  mist,  and 

with  as  brave  wild  roaring)  arch  and  architrave, 
Aisle,  transept,  column,  marble  wall, — then  swelling  outward, 

prodigal  of  aspiration  beyond  thrall," 

soared,  higher  and  yet  higher,  excelsior,  itself  a  glory 
in  excelsis. 

Wordsworth's  homage  to  the  organ  is  full  and 
free  and  frequent ;  not  always,  perhaps,  too 
poetically  expressed.  He  calls  it,  for  instance,  a 
"tubed  engine"  in  his  Thanksgiving  Ode: — 

"  '  O  enter  now  His  temple  gate  ! ' 
Inviting  words — perchance  already  flung 


40  CHAPEL   ORGAN  AT  KINGS. 

(As  the  crowd  press  devoutly  down  the  aisle 
Of  some  old  minster's  venerable  pile) 
From  voices  into  zealous  passion  stung, 
While  the  tubed  engine  feels  the  inspiring  blasts, 
And  has  begun — its  clouds  of  sound  to  cast 
Forth  towards  empyreal  Heaven, 
As  if  the  fretted  roof  were  riven." 

But  safe  from  all  verbal  cavil  are  those  three  noble 
sonnets  on  the  interior  of  King's  College,  Cam- 
bridge, which  commemorate  the  designer  of  that 
branching  roof,  self-poised  and  scooped  into  ten 
thousand  cells,  "where  light  and  shade  repose, 
where  music  dwells  lingering,  and  wandering  on 
as  loth  to  die."     From  the  arms  of  silence, — 

"  List  !  O  list ! 
The  music  bursteth  into  second  life  ; 
The  notes  luxuriate,  every  stone  is  kissed 
By  sound,  or  ghost  of  sound,  in  mazy  strife ; 
Heart-thrilling  strains,  that  cast,  before  the  eye 
Of  the  devout,  a  veil  of  ecstasy  1 n 


Ill 

flDrpng— Beponn  tlje  leaning:,  antr  tfje 
patience,  of  31  ob* 

THE  most  patient  of  men  speaks  of  those  who 
"take  the  timbrel  and  harp,  and  rejoice  at 
the  sound  of  the  organ"  (Job  xxi.  12).  It  would 
tax  the  patience  of  Job  to  bear  with,  to  bear  up 
against,  the  sound  of  the  organ,  were  it  a  street- 
organ,  and  the  grinder  near  at  hand.  As  to  rejoicing 
at  it,  or  rejoicing  with  them  that  do  rejoice  at  it, — 
one  hopes  that  Job  would  have  become  zV/zpatient 
at  the  very  idea. 

Sufferers  from  the  excruciating  torture  of  street 
organ-grinding  may  be  forgiven  if  they  sometimes 
wish  there  were  no  such  thing  as  music,  in  this 
world  or  the  next.  But  it  is  commonly  the  ear 
most  susceptible  to  real  music  that  is  tortured  by 
the  "brown  beasts"  of  your  quiet  street.  It  is  in 
a  main  degree  because  he  knows  what  music  is, 
and  can  respond  in  his  heart  of  hearts  to  its  subtle 
and  sweet  appeals, — deep  calling  to  deep,  not  un- 


42  ORGAN  GRINDERS: 


answered, — that  he  winces  and  writhes  under  the 
harrow  of  the  grinder.  The  organ-man  has  his 
patrons,  his   allies,  his    champions,  his   admirers* 

*  Who  would  have  reckoned  on  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  re- 
marking, in  illustration  of  his  thesis  that  Pleasure  is  coy,  and 
must  not  be  too  directly  pursued,  but  must  be  caught  un- 
awares,— that  "  an  air  from  a  street  piano,  heard  while  at 
work,  will  often  gratify  more  than  the  choicest  music  played 
at  a  concert  by  the  most  accomplished  musicians"?  Mr. 
Leigh  Hunt,  in  spite  of  his  genuine  musical  sensibilities,  was 
so  pronounced  a  lover  of  all  that  seemed  to  exhilarate  any 
class  of  his  fellow-creatures,  or  might  even  remotely  tend  to 
refine  them,  that  no  one  is  surprised  at  a  similar  remark 
from  him,  as  to  a  tree  in  London  streets  affecting  the  eye 
something  in  the  same  way  as  "  the  hand-organ  which  brings 
unexpected  music  to  the  ear."  Mr.  Hay  ward  tells  us  of 
Samuel  Rogers  that  when  he  dined  at  home,  and  alone,  it 
was  his  custom  to  have  an  Italian  organ-grinder  playing  in 
the  hall,  the  organ  being  set  to  the  Sicilian  Mariners'  air  and 
other  popular  tunes  of  the  south. 

M.  Emile  Deschauel,  in  his  Causeries  de  Quinzaine,  allows 
that  street  music  does  not  gratify  a  cultivated  ear,  that  the 
execution  is  necessarily  imperfect,  the  audience  not  at  all 
fastidious.  "Eh  !  c'est  lale  mal,  dites-vous, — Non,  c'estun 
bien,  qui  conduit  a  un  mieux."  This  rude  form  of  art,  he 
contends,  awakens  the  ideaL 

Mr.  Windham  has  this  entry  in  his  Diary,  sub  anno  1786  : 
"  Some  Irish  tunes,  from  an  organ  which  we  had  at  the 
door,  gave  me  those  sensations  of  happiness  which  music 
sometimes  inspires  me  with,  and  which  I  hardly  know  from 
anything  else."  A  parallel  passage  is  that  in  Byron's  Diary 
of  Feb.  2,  1 82 1  (at  Ravenna)  :  "Oh,  there  is  an  organ 
playing  in  the  street— a  waltz  too  !  I  must  leave  off  to  listen. 
They  are  playing  a  waltz  which  I  have  heard  ten  thousand 


THEIR  PATRONS  AND  PAYMASTERS.      43 

even,  his  persistent  paymasters.  And  it  is  easy 
to  see  that  something  may  be  said  for  him.  But 
with  regard  to  those  who  pay  him,  and  who  en- 
courage his  once-a-week  visits,  if  not  oftener,  all  the 
year  round,  notwithstanding  their  full  knowledge 
of  the  distress  his  grinding  inflicts  on  some  next- 
times  at  the  balls  in  London,  between  181 2  and  181 5. 
Music  is  a  strange  thing."  In  some  such  mood  does  Violet, 
in  the  story  bearing  that  name,  give  way  to  the  associations 
conjured  up  to  her  mind  by  "  Portrait  Charmant,"  when  that 
air  is  struck  up  by  a  street  organ-boy.  "  In  our  busy  moments 
we  have  so  contemned  the  tiresome  Italian  boy,  with  his  one 
tune.  .  .  .  But  in  the  time  of  sorrow,  of  inactive  sorrow,  if 
such  an  air  as  '  Portrait  Charmant '  be  heard  mingling  with 
the  vulgar  street  sounds,  it  will  strike  you  as  it  never  did 
before,  and  in  listening  to  the  notes  you  find  it  is  somehow 
taking  a  gentle  revenge  for  all  the  contumely  you  have  cast 
upon  its  hackneyed  sounds  in  days  gone  by."  Chacun  a  son 
gout.  The  time  of  sorrow  is  the  last  the  present  annotator 
would  choose  for  hearing  a  street  organ  grind  any  air  what- 
soever. At  the  best  of  times,  to  him,  the  best  of  barrel- 
organs  is  tolerable  in  no  other  sense  than  Dogberry's  of  not 
to  be  endured. 

Never  was  the  simplicity  of  good  old  Colonel  Newcome 
more  remarkably  or  perhaps  less  winsomely  displayed,  than 
when,  ever  anxious  to  procure  amusement  for  his  darling 
Rosey,  then  confined  to  her  couch,  he  asked  whether  she 
would  not  like  a  barrel-organ  grinding  fifty  or  sixty  favourite 
pieces,  which  a  bearer  could  turn  ;  such  an  instrument  as 
the  "  very  fine  one  "  Windus,  of  his  regiment,  "  who  loved 
music  exceedingly,"  had  out  to  Barrackpore  in  the  year  18 10, 
and  relays  of  barrels  by  each  ship  with  all  the  new  tunes 
from  Europe. 


44      THE  MAN  WITH  THE  TORTURE-BOX. 

door  neighbour, — what  can  be  said  for  them  ?  what 
may  not  be  said  of  them  ?  Granted,  that  there  are 
in  existence  cantankerous  folk,  cross-grained  and 
acidulous  exceedingly,  who  oppose  all  street  "music" 
because  it  gives  pleasure  to  some  one  else,  and  they 
have  no  notion  of  letting  any  one  be  pleased  if  they 
can  help  it.  But  is  it  fair,  is  it  within  the  range  of 
common  justice,  common  good  feeling,  or  indeed 
common  sense,  to  impute  indiscriminately  to  every 
objector  to  barrel-organ-grinders  and  brass  bands- 
men this  extravagant  malice  of  motive?  In  ninety- 
nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  the  suffering  is  real, 
and  very  frequently  it  is  intense.  Iron  constitu- 
tions that  boast  themselves  innocent  of  nerves,  un- 
conscious of  a  nervous  system, — 'tis  a  thousand 
pities  they  cannot  realize  something  of  the  nervous 
agitation,  the  absolute  physical  derangement,  the 
prolonged  mental  discomposure,  all  due  to  the  man 
with  his  torture-box  under  their  window.  Why 
should  not  I  and  my  children  have  it,  if  we  like  it, 
and  we  do  like  it,  cries  your  robust  neighbour.  But 
he  and  his  children  can  very  much  better  bear  with 
a  privation  of  that  very  odd  pleasure,  than  you 
can  bear  with  the  pain.  A  neighbour  should  show 
himself  neighbourly.  Will  nothing  less  than  a 
brain  fever  convince  him  that  grinding  may  be 
torture  to  some  nerves  ?  Nothing  at  all,  probably, 
will  convince  him  that  the  hater  of  organ-grinding 


GRINDING  OPPRESSORS.  45 

can  like  music.  One  may  apply  to  the  imperfect 
sympathy  between  these  twain,  what  the  host  says 
to  Julia,  and  what  Julia  answers,  in  The  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona : 

"  Host.  I  perceive  you  delight  not  in  music. 
Jul.  Not  a  whit,  when  it  jars  so." 

And  how  it  does  jar,  that  creak  of  the  torture- 
box  of  pipes  and  foul  wind !  It  taxes  one's 
humanity  to  feel  humane  towards  the  dirty  agents 
of  all  this  foul  play,  albeit  while  (in  Mrs.  Browning's 
words)  "  the  organ's  grinding,  the  grinder's  face  is 
dry  and  vacant  of  even  woe."  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes 
has  a  rap  at  the  breed,  including  the  hurdy-gurdy 
monsters,  as 

"  Vagrants,  whose  arts 
Have  caged  some  devil  in  their  mad  machine,* 
Which  grinding,  squeaks,  with  husky  groans  between." 

All  thanks  to  every  scribe  who  utters  a  like 
protest,  however  casually  expressed,  against  the 
grinders  ;  for  every  little  helps,  or  ought  to  help. 
To  the  author  of  Land  at  Last,  for  instance,  for 
his  side-thrust  (in  passing)  at  *  the  grinding  of  the 


*  As  a  machine,  Father  Prout  quarrelled  with  the  barrel- 
organ, — complaining  that  the  old  ballad-singers,  blind  fiddlers, 
and  pipers,  had  been  forced  to  give  place  to  a  mere  piece  of 
machinery,  which  superseded  all  intelligence  and  interest  in 
the  player. 


46  THE  ORGAN  FIEND. 

horrible  organ  which  is  murdering  '  Ah,  che  la 
morte'  beneath  my  window."  To  the  author  of 
Half  a  Million  of  Money,  for  an  onslaught 
against  "  the  inevitable  street-organ — that  '  most 
miraculous  organ/  which  can  no  more  be  silenced 
than  the  voice  of  murder  itself/'*  To  the  author  of 
Twice  Round  the  Clock,  for  his  fling  at  the  "  Italian 
organ-grinder,  hirsute,  sunburnt,  and  saucy,"  who 
grinds  airs  from  the  Trovatore  six  times  over, 
follows  with  a  selection  from  the  Traviata,  repeated 
half  a  dozen  times,  finishes  with  the  Old  Hundredth, 
and  then  begins  again.  To  one  of  Blackwood's 
most  favoured  poets,  too  early  dead,  (perhaps  the 
"  organ-fiend  "  helped  to  kill  him,)  who  recorded 
once  among  the  pleasures  of  memory  the  fact  that 

"  The  Organ-fiend  was  wanting  there. 
Not  till  the  Peace  had  closed  our  quarrels 

Could  slaughter  that  machine  devise, 
(Made  from  his  useless  musket-barrels) 

To  slay  us  'mid  our  London  Cries. 
"Why  did  not  Martin  in  his  Act 

Insert  some  punishment  to  suit 
This  crime  of  being  hourly  rack'd 

To  death  by  some  melodious  Brute  ? 

*  "  And  which  in  Transpontia  hath  its  chosen  home.  The 
oldest  inhabitant  of  Brudenell  Terrace  confessed  to  never 
having  known  the  hour  of  any  day  (except  Sunday)  when 
some  native  of  Parma  or  Lucca  was  not  to  be  heard  grinding 
his  slow  length  along  from  number  one  to  number  twenty- 
our." — Chap.  I 


SUFFERERS'  PROTESTS.  47 

From  ten  at  morn  to  twelve  at  night 

His  instrument  the  Savage  plies, 
From  him  alone  there's  no  respite, 

Since  'tis  the  Victim,  here,  that  cries. 

"Macaulay!  Talfourd  !  Smythe  !  Lord  John!* 

If  ever  yet  your  studies  brown 
This  pest  has  broken  in  upon, 

Arise,  and  put  the  Monster  down. 
By  all  distracted  students  feel, 

When  sense  crash'd  into  nonsense  dies 
Beneath  that  ruthless  Organ's  wheel, 

We  call !  O  hear  our  London  Cries  ! n 

A  Saturday  Reviewer  can  name  no  native 
nuisance  to  compare  with  that  inflicted  by  itinerant 
musicians  on  those  who  have  "  no  soul  for  popular 
Italian  music."  He  assumes  that  there  is  a  class 
of  our  fellow-citizens  who  love  to  steep  their  senses 
in  the  eccentric  melodies  ground  out  of  tortured 
music-chests  by  able-bodied  Piedmontese.  He 
knows  too  well  that  there  is  another  class,  the  soft- 
ness of  whose  hearts  is  only  surpassed  by  that  of 
their  heads,  who,  compassionating  the  sorrows  of 
the  victims  of  a  cruel  system,  do  their  best  to  make 
it  perpetual  by  subsidizing  it.  But  he  submits — 
and  with  grateful  earnestness  we  enforce  the  plea 
— that  a  certain  consideration  should  be  shown  for 
intelligible  differences  of  taste  ;  that  even  assuming 
the  harmonies  of  the  organ  to  be  the  music  of  the 

*  This  appeal  was  penned  in  1849. 


48  A  DA  Y  OF  DELIVERANCE. 

spheres,  THEIR  ABSENCE  WOULD  INFLICT  LESS 
PAIN  ON  THEIR  RARE  ADMIRERS  THAN  THEIR 
PRESENCE  DOES  ON  THE  MANY  WHOSE  NERVES  IT 
JARS.  This  is  a  very  mild  and  temperate  way  of 
putting  the  question ;  but  it  may  be  all  the  more 
likely  to  commend  itself  to  the  calmly  common- 
sensical  who  will  give  it  a  thought.  And,  for 
commonest  charity  sake,  it  deserves  one. 

The  day  will  dawn,  it  may  not  be  too  ex- 
travagant a  hope  to  cherish,  when  no  father  of  a 
family  that  cares  whether  or  not  his  neighbours 
suffer,  will  allow  the  peripatetic  grinder  to  grind 
within  earshot  of  his  doors  and  windows,  be  they 
shut  or  open ;  and  when  no  mother  that  cares  for 
her  children  having  a  jot  of  musical  taste  will 
allow  her  servants  to  fee  and  retain  the  carrier  of 
that  box  of  instrumental  torture,  in  their  delighted 
recognition  of  music-hall  monstrosities  and  tea- 
gardens  melodies, — flashy,  flabby,  frowsy,  flatulent 
stuff, — as  loud  and  flaring  as  it  is  weary,  stale,  flat, 
and  (except  to  the  grinder)  most  unprofitable.  The 
day  will  dawn, — for  the  sake  of  human  nature  and 
of  civilization,  one  cannot  but  hope  it, — when  there 
shall  be  realized  the  pictorial  prophecy  outlined  by 
John  Leech,  or  by  some  fellow-artist  who  felt  like 
him  as  well  as  drew  like  him  :  the  picture  of  a 
child-visitor  at  Madame  Tussaud's  starting  back 
in  terror  from  the  grim  presence  in  waxwork  of  a 


NOTICE   TO   QUIT.  49 

hirsute  grinder  in  full  play,  horrible  to  the  eye  (the 
bodily  eye),  and  horrible  to  the  ear  (the  mind's 
ear).  The  child's  alarm  is  soothed  by  a  gentle 
mother's  reviving  assurance  that  the  man  is  not 
real,  not  alive  ;  and  she  adds,  "  Why,  I  can  re- 
member when  creatures  of  that  sort  were  allowed 
to  go  loose  in  the  streets  all  about  London ! " 
Happy  the  people  that  are  in  such  a  case  as  the 
lady  and  little  boy  in  that  prospective  picture. 
May  the  day  for  its  entire  realization  dawn  ere 
long  !  Meanwhile,  every  householder  is  a  public 
benefactor  who  exercises  his  legal  right  to  send 
out  and  stop  the  grinding  that  is,  not  merely 
opposite,  but  even  near,  his  house.  He  sets  a  good 
example.  He  encourages  more  timid  but  also 
more  sensitive  neighbours  to  do  likewise  ;  and  he 
is  not  only  doing  what  is  right,  and  what  is  his 
right,  but,  in  behalf  of  all  near  him  who  are  suffer- 
ing, and  desolate,  and  oppressed,  he  is  doing  a 
work  of  real  charity. 


So 


IV. 

%&  (Hinrpr  upon  jfh'tre* 

Proverbs  xxv.  20. 

"AS  vinegar  upon  nitre,  so  is  he  that  singeth 
il  songs  to  a  heavy  heart."  There  are  people 
who,  it  has  been  said,  are  so  irresistibly  impelled  to. 
sing  songs,  that,  in  a  world  where  heavy  hearts  are 
unfortunately  common,  it  is  difficult  always  to  keep 
the  vinegar  and  nitre  apart.  They  cannot  sympa-< 
thize  with,  for  they  cannot  in  the  least  understand, 
the  temperament  which  tends  to  constitute  what 
Sir  Henry  Taylor  calls 

"  A  recreant  from  festivities  that  grieve 
The  heart  not  festive." 

The  lament  of  the  lady  in  the  old  ballad  of  Jamie 
Douglas  has  this  among  other  touches  of  nature  : 

"  As  on  to  Embro'  town  we  came, 
My  guid  father  he  welcomed  me  ; 
He  caused  his  minstrels  meet  to  sound, — 
It  was  no  music  at  a'  to  me." 


UNWELCOME  MUSIC.  51 

The  good  king  Rene,  feeling  his  own  genius  for 
recreative  composition  in  music,  makes  the  like 
mistake  when  he  resolves  to  exert  it  to  the  utmost, 
in  the  hope  of  thereby  relieving  the  melancholy 
which  has  taken  fast  hold  of  his  daughter,  Margaret 
of  Anjou.  What  he  devises  for  means  of  solace 
and  alleviation,  serves  but  to  disgust  her  as  idle 
folly ;  and  she  makes  her  escape  with  all  speed 
from  the  elaborate  mirth  which  is  the  bitterest 
aggravation  of  her  sorrows.  Worse  than  useless 
are  the  royal  father's  pains  to  place  in  requisition 
every  pipe  and  tambourine  in  the  country ;  Mar- 
garet can  receive  no  agreeable  sensation  from 
sounds  of  levity;  the  sounding  brass  and  the 
tinkling  cymbals  do  but  grate  and  jar  on  her 
ear ;  and  the  king  has  to  give  way  to  reasons 
which  he  cannot  sympathize  with.  "  He  tried  to 
enliven,  and  therefore  doubly  saddened  me," — the 
record  of  this  one  experience  is  typical  for  all 
time.  Rowe's  Calista  deserves  a  hearing  for  the 
plea, 

"  Let  not  thy  fond  officious  love  disturb 
My  solemn  sadness  with  the  sound  of  joy." 

A  broken  tooth,  is  a  simile  of  King  Solomon's, 
just  before  this  one  of  vinegar  upon  nitre  ;  and  the 
having  one's  teeth  set  on  edge  by  either  unseason- 
able  or  very  bad  music  might  be  suggested  by 


5?  GRATING  DISCORDS. 

either  figure.  The  latest  King  of  Hanover,  him- 
self deprived  of  sight,  treats  of  that  sense  as  less 
powerful  and  operative  than  that  of  hearing,  "be- 
cause inharmonious,  jarring  tones  are  capable  of 
shocking  and  torturing  our  feelings  to  their  inmost 
core  to  such  an  extent  as  to  make  us  almost  beside 
ourselves  " — an  effect,  he  goes  on  to  say,  in  his 
Idem  and  Bctrachtungai  iibcr  die  Eigenschaften  der 
Musik,  it  is  impossible  to  produce  by  a  bad  paint- 
ing, a  desolate  tract  of  country,  or  the  worst  of 
poems.  To  this  statement,  exception  was  taken 
by  his  reviewer  in  the  Quarterly,  who  allows  it  to 
be  perfectly  true  that  the  bare  contemplation  of  a 
daub  does  not  throw  a  connoisseur  in  painting  into 
convulsions  like  Hogarth's  Enraged  Musician ;  and 
that  the  worst  epic  ever  laid  on  the  reviewer's  table 
never  provoked  in  him  anything  beyond  a  strong 
tendency  to  slumber.  But  the  obvious  reason,  he 
points  out,  is  that,  amongst  the  several  objects  of 
repugnance  mentioned  by  the  prince,  disagreeable 
sounds  alone  affect  us  physically  through  the 
nerves  :  "  for  example,  a  person  utterly  devoid  of 
musical  taste  or  sensibility  may  be  made  to  suffer 
acutely  from  a  sound  that  sets  the  teeth  on  edge." 
The  proper  analogy,  therefore,  as  regards  the  sight, 
would  be,  the  critic  submits,  not  between  bad  music 
and  bad  pictures,  but  between  the  glare  of  a  red 
flame  and  the  grating  of  a  file. 


SENSITIVE  CULTURE.  53 

Now  what  the  grating  of  a  file  is  to  the  nerves 
of  hearing  in  an  unmusical  person,  bad  music  is  to 
those  of  the  musical — varying  of  course,  in  every 
case,  with  the  degree  of  badness  in  the  music,  and 
of  nervous  irritability  and  musical  sensibility  con- 
joined, in  the  afflicted  hearer.  One  of  the  penal- 
ties of  an  advancing  refinement  in  taste,  is  a 
proportionate  disrelish,  if  not  disgust*  at,  and 
intolerance  of  the  coarser,  lower,  more  popular 
type  of  compositions.  The  liabitue  of  Mr.  Charles 
Halle's  "  recitals,"  or  of  Mr.  Ellas  Musical  Union, 
cannot  stomach  the  affronts  of  a  miscellaneous  or 
ballad  concert.  Writing  in  1840,  on  our  alleged 
national  obtuseness  with  regard  to  the  higher  order 
of  music,  Mr.  de  Quincey  complained  that  so  little 
was  the  grandeur  of  this  "  divine  art "  suspected 
amongst  us  generally,  that  men  were  to  be  found 
who  would  pen  an  essay  deliberately  for  the  pur- 

*  Hamilton  is  apt  to  conclude  of  Hildegarde,  in  the 
Initials,  that  she  is  incapable  of  appreciating  good  music 
when  she  hears  it ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  she  is  so  sensitively- 
alive  to  its  beauties  that  she  cannot  endure  mediocrity. 

So  with  Sidonia,  in  Mr.  Disraeli's  Coni7igsby.  "  You  are 
fond  of  music,  Lord  Eskdale  tells  me?"  "When  it  is 
excellent,"  said  Sidonia.  "  But  that  is  so  rare."  "  And  pre- 
cious as  Paradise.      As  for  indifferent  music,  'tis  Purgatory  ; 

but  when  it  is  bad,  for  my  part  I  feel  myself "  "  Where  ?  " 

said  Lord  Eskdale.  "  In  the  last  circles  of  the  Inferno," 
said  Sidonia. 


54  SHALLOW  LOVERS  OF  A    TUNE. 

pose  of  putting  on  record  their  own  preference  of 
a  song,  to  the  most  elaborate  music  of  Mozart  or 
Beethoven  ;  who  would  thus  glory  in  their  shame ; 
and,  though  speaking  in  the  character  of  one  con- 
fessing a  weakness,  would  evidently  regard  them- 
selves as  models  of  candour,  laying  bare  a  state  of 
feeling  which  is  natural  and  sound,  opposed  to  a 
class  of  false  pretenders  who,  while  servile  to  rules 
of  artists,  in  reality  contradict  their  own  musical 
instincts,  and  feel  little  or  nothing  of  what  they 
profess.  Strange,  Mr.  de  Quincey  accounts  it  in 
the  instance  of  such  a  man,  that  even  the  analogy 
of  other  arts  should  not  open  his  eyes  to  the  delu- 
sion he  is  encouraging.  "  A  song,  an  air,  a  tune, — 
that  is,  a  short  succession  of  notes  revolving  rapidly 
upon  itself, — how  could  that  by  possibility  offer  a 
field  of  compass  sufficient  for  the  development  of 
great  musical  effects  ?  The  preparation  pregnant 
with  the  future,  the  remote  correspondence,  the 
questions,  as  it  were,  which  to  a  deep  musical  sense 
are  asked  in  one  passage,  and  answered  in  anothei ; 
the  iteration  and  ingemination  of  a  given  effect, 
moving  through  subtle  variations  that  sometimes 
disguise  the  theme,  sometimes  fitfully  reveal  it, 
sometimes  throw  it  out  tumultuously  to  the  day- 
light,— these  and  ten  thousand  forms  of  self-con- 
flicting musical  passion — what  room  could  they 
find,  what  opening,  for  utterance,  in  so  limited  a 


CRUDE  CRITICASTERS.  55 

field  as  an  air  or  song  ? M  A  hunting-box,  a  park 
lodge,  the  eloquent  dissertator  suggests,  may  have 
a  forest  grace  and  the  beauty  of  appropriateness  ; 
but  what  if  a  man  should  match  such  a  bauble 
against  the  Pantheon,  or  against  the  minsters  of 
York  and  Strasburg  ?  The  conclusion  is  :  let  him 
who  finds  the  maximum  of  his  musical  gratification 
in  a  song,  be  assured,  by  that  one  fact,  that  his 
sensibility  is  rude  and  undeveloped.* 

A  later  critic  of  the  "  critics  of  the  parlour," 
shallow  and  superficial,  but  glib  and  self-satisfied, 
says  of  them  that,  with  a  vile  affectation  of  hu- 
mility, they  ostentatiously  avowf  that  they  don't 

*  Yet  exactly  upon  this  level  Mr.  de  Quincey  affirmed  the 
ordinary  state  of  musical  feeling  throughout  Great  Britain  to 
be,  in  1840;  and  he  cited  the  "howling  wilderness  of  the 
psalmody  in  most  parish  churches  of  the  land  "  to  counter- 
sign the  averment.  At  the  same  time  he  distinctly  recognized 
the  accumulation  in  London  of  more  musical  science  than  in 
any  capital  in  the  world  ;  and  this,  gradually  diffused,  would, 
he  gladly  felt,  improve  the  feeling  of  the  country. 

t  Of  constant  recurrence,  and  ever  sure  of  sympathizers  in 
plenty,  are  such  avowals  as  that  of  Mackenzie's  Montauban  : 
"  I  am  delighted  with  those  ancient  national  songs,  because 
there  is  a  simplicity  and  an  expression  in  them  which  I  can 
understand.  Adepts  in  music  are  pleased  with  more  intricate 
compositions ;  and  they  talk  more  of  the  pleasure  than  they 
feel ;  and  others  talk  after  them  without  feeling  at  all." 

Burns  writes  to  Mr.  Thomson,  "  I  am  sensible  that  my 
taste  in  music  must  be  inelegant  and  vulgar,  because 
people  of  undisputed  and  cultivated  taste  can  find  no  merit 


56  A    SIMPLE  SOXG. 


understand  high  art,  and  are  entirely  ignorant  of 
grand   critical   principles;    still   they   know    what 

in  my  favourite  tunes.  Still,  because  I  am  cheaply  pleased, 
is  that  any  reason  why  I  should  deny  myself  that  pleasure  ? 
Many  of  our  Strathspeys  .  .  .  give  me  most  exquisite  enjoy- 
ment, where  you  and  other  judges  would  probably  be  showing 
disgust." 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away  excites  the  enthusiasm  of  Mr. 
Lammeter,  in  Silas  Marner :  "  There's  a  many  tunes  I 
don't  make  head  or  tail  of ;  but  that  speaks  to  me  like  the 
blackbird's  whistle."  "  Come,  Mr.  Bates,"  is  the  appeal  of 
Mr.  Sharp  in  one  of  the  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,  "let  us  hear 
'  Roy's  Wife/  I'd  rather  hear  a  good  old  song  like  that,  nor 
all  the  fine  Italian  toodlin." 

Francis  Horner  confesses  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  I  know 
nothing  of  music  myself  more  than  the  pleasure  it  gives  me  ; 
and  a  march,  or  a  plain  song,  or  even  a  reel,  is  to  me  worth 
all  the  skilful  execution  of  Italy."  But  in  another  letter,  of 
nearly  the  same  date,  Horner  congratulates  another  corre- 
spondent on  their  common  admiration  of  Handel :  "  Being 
altogether  as  ignorant  of  music,  both  of  us,  as  the  dolphins 
whom  Arion  charmed,  or  the  stocks  and  stones  that  yielded 
to  Orpheus,  it  is  fortunate  that  that  ignorance  prevents 
neither  stones  nor  dolphins  nor  Scotch  lawyers  from  being 
delighted  with  the  divine  compositions  of  HandeL" — (Horner 
to  Murray,  April  10,  1S01.) 

Of  Xiebuhr  we  find  that  scientific  music  at  no  time  of  his 
life  afforded  him  gratification,  but  a  simple  song  often  affected 
him  even  to  tears.  So  with  the  Quaker  philosopher  Dalton, 
who.  despite  his  unpoetical  temperament,  and  his  indifference 
to  elaborate  musical  achievements,  was  deeply  moved  by 
simple  melodies,  and  would  sit  absorbed  and  spell-bound  by 
certain  favourite  airs.  He  might  have  explained  the  charm 
after  the  manner  of  Gerard  de  Nerval — 


TRITE   OLD   TUNES.  57 

gives  them  pleasure,  and  are  not  sure  whether  this, 
after  all,  is  not  as  good  a  test  as  another  of  artistic 

' '  II  est  un  air  pour  qui  je  donnerais 
Tout  Rossini,  tout  Mozart,  et  tout  Weber, 
Un  air  tres-vieux,  languissant  et  funebre, 
Qui  pour  moi  seul  a  des  charmes  secrets." 

Samuel  Rogers  had  a  pronounced  preference  for  simple 
melodies  to  complicated  harmonies  ;  a  biographer  says  he 
would  have  agreed  with  the  critic  who  on  being  informed 
that  a  brilliant  performance  just  concluded  was  extremely- 
difficult,  ejaculated,  "  I  wish  it  had  been  impossible."  Sir 
Walter  Scott  hails  the  "natural  empire"  over  the  "generous 
bosom  "  of  a  "  simple  and  even  rude  "  music,  such  as  "  can- 
not be  attained  by  the  most  learned  compositions  of  the  first 
masters,  which  are  caviare  to  the  common  ear,"  although, 
doubtless,  as  he  is  ready  to  concede,  they  afford  a  delight, 
exquisite  in  its  kind,  to  those  whose  natural  capacity  and 
education  have  enabled  them  to  comprehend  and  relish  those 
difficult  and  complicated  combinations  of  harmony. 

When  Sir  Walter's  Black  Knight  asks  his  hermit  host 
what  he  will  have  him  sing — whether  a  sirvente  in  the  lan- 
guage of  oc,  or  a  lai  in  the  language  of  out,  or  a  virelai,  or 
a  ballad  in  the  vulgar  English, — "  A  ballad,  a  ballad,"  says 
the  hermit,  "  against  all  the  ocs  and  outs  of  France."  Squire 
Western  never  relished  any  music  but  what  was  light  and 
airy,  his  most  favourite  tunes  being  "Old  Sir  Simon  the 
King,"  "  St.  George  he  was  for  England,"  and  "  Bobbing 
Joan;" — and  though  Sophia,  his  daughter,  "a  perfect 
mistress  of  music,"  would  never  willingly  have  played  any 
but  Handel's,  she  learnt  all  those  tunes  to  oblige  the  squire, 
whose  custom  it  was  to  hear  her  play  on  the  harpsichord 
every  afternoon,  for  "  he  was  a  great  lover  of  music,  and 
perhaps,  had  he  lived  in  town,  might    have  passed  for  a 

connoisseur,  for  " — mark  the  irony  of  Fielding's  syllogism 

"  he  always  excepted  against  the  finest  compositions  of  Mr. 


58  HO  MEL  Y  FA  VOURITES. 

success.  This  modest  way  of  putting  the  case  is 
justly  said  by  their  censor  to  really  veil  a  profound 

Handel."  Mr.  Spread,  in  the  Bachelor  of  the  Albany,  "liked 
music  in  a  pleasant,  social,  unmusical  sort  of  way  ;  that  is  to 
say,  he  liked  without  understanding  it,  and  thought  the  words 
of  a  song  a  very  important  part  of  it."  There  is  a  genuine 
touch  of  Fielding's  irony  in  that  last  hit  by  Mr.  Savage. 
u  I  used  to  go  to  the  Opera  at  Lisbon,"  says  Captain  Hopkin- 
son,  in  The  Semi-detached  House,  "  and  such  a  quavering, 
and  shaking,  and  screaming,  with  great  loud  crashes  of  the 
orchestra  at  the  end,  enough  to  deafen  you.  When  I  went 
on  board  again  and  heard  John  Leary,  one  of  our  best 
mizzen-top-men,  sing  '  Home,  sweet  home,'  the  rest  of  the 
watch  joining  in  the  chorus,  I  thought  that  was  music,  the 
other  was  only  noise."  The  captain  was  not  the  man  to  say 
ditto  to  Homer's  Telemachus, — 

"For  novel  lays  attract  our  ravish' d  ears  ; 
But  old,  the  mind  with  inattention  hears." 

You  will  never,  affirms  David  Hume,  in  one  of  his  meta- 
physical essays,  convince  a  man  who  is  not  accustomed  to 
Italian  music,  and  has  not  an  ear  to  follow  its  intricacies, 
that  a  Scotch  tune  is  not  preferable.  Pepys  records  in  his 
Diary  a  visit  to  a  singer  of  the  Italian  school :  "  and  indeed 
she  sings  mightily  well,  and  just  after  the  Italian  manner,  but 
yet  do  not  please  me  like  one  of  Mrs.  Knipp's  songs,  to  a 
good  English  tune,"  all  of  the  olden  time.  Mr.  Barham  is 
fain  to  confess  a  like  preference  : 

"You'll  say  that  my  taste 

Is  sadly  misplaced, 
But  I  can't  help  confessing  these  simple  old  tunes, 
The  Auld  Robin  Grays,  and  the  Aileen  Aroons, 
The  Gramachree  Mollys,  and  Sweet  Bonny  Boons, 

Are  dearer  to  me 

In  a  tenfold  degree 
Than  a  fine  fantasia  from  over  the  sea." 


SUPERFICIAL  AND  SELF-COMPLACENT.     $9 

conviction  that,  though  not  learned  in  the  pedantiy 
of  academies,  they  have  a  fine  natural  insight  into 
the  true  and  the  beautiful,  which  is  worth  infinitely 
more  than  all  that  academies  have  got  to  teach:  at 
bottom  they  sincerely  believe  that  the  pleasure 
which  they  derive  from  a  song  is  in  truth  the 
standard  of  its  worth.  Now  the  giving  of  pleasure 
is  admitted  to  be  unquestionably  an  end  of  all 
artistic  composition ;  only  it  is  worth  remember- 
ing, these  criticasters  of  the  drawing-room  are  told, 
that  everything  depends  on  the  sort  of  people  to 
whom  a  piece  is  fit  to  give  pleasure.  "  The  jovial 
song  which  fills  with  delirious  transports  the  dull 
brain  of  a  beery  clown  in  an  alehouse  may  not  be 
very  admirable  in  ears  polite."  And  there  may  be 
light-of-nature  critics  as  little  able  as  the  beery 
clown  "  to  appreciate  one  of  Beethoven's  sonatas, 
or  one  of  Mendelssohn's  Lieder.  The  incapacity, 
which  in  the  one  case  comes  of  beer  and  dulness 
combined,  is  in  the  other  the  simpler  fruit  of  dul- 
ness and  no  beer." 

Not  that  appreciation  of  the  highest  and  even 
the  severest  school  of  classical  music  need  imply 
indifference  to,  or  a  disrelish  of,  the  very  simplest 
music  that  is  good  of  its  kind,  and  is  therefore 
melodious,  individual,  and  characteristic.  There  is 
a  species  of  music  which  the  sympathetic  author 
of  ConsuelOy   treating  of  the   ancient  canticles  of 


6o  SCIENCE  AND  SENSIBILITY. 

Bohemia,  terms  natural,  because  it  is  not  the  pro- 
duction of  science  and  reflection,  but  rather  of  an 
inspiration  which  escapes  from  the  trammels  of 
rules  and  conventions  ;  and  such  is  popular  music, 
that  of  the  peasants  in  particular,  which  educated 
musicians  will  not  trouble  themselves  to  collect — 
"the  most  part  despising  these  fugitive  ideas,  for 
want  of  an  intelligence  and  sentiment  sufficiently 
elevated  to  comprehend  them."  Consuelo  is  de- 
scribed as  having  all  the  candour,  poetry,  and  sensi- 
bility which  are  requisite  to  comprehend  and  love 
popular  music,  and  in  this  to  have  proved  that  she 
was  a  great  artist,  and  that  the  learned  theories 
which  she  had  studied  had  in  no  respect  impaired 
the  freshness  and  sweetness  which  are  the  treasures 
of  inspiration  and  the  youth  of  the  soul.  She 
would  not  have  come  under  the  lash  of  the  French 
satirist : 

"  Tous  veulent  etonner,  et,  surs  d'etre  applaudis, 
Briguent,  a  qui  mieux  mieux,  le  titre  d'erudits. 
lis  croiraient  deVoger  a  leur  grandeur  future, 
S'ils  daignaient  quelquefois  consulter  la  Nature. 
La  Nature,  en  effet,  se  trompe  fort  souvent ; 
Elle  fait  peu  de  cas  d'un  ouvrage  savant  : 
Le  patre  et  ses  chansons,  le  eceur  et  son  langage, 
Un  air  simple,  un  ton  vrai  lui  plaisent  dax-a^age." 

In  his  essay  on  Grandfathers  and  Grandchildren, 
the  author  of  Letters  to  Ensebiics,  after  recognizing 
in  Handel   and   Purcell  composers   of  music   for 


BUTTERFLY  BRAVURAS.  61 

men,  grand  and  thought-creating,  asked,  "Who 
composes  music  now,  but  mere  tintinnabula  of  folly 
or  licentiousness,  with  their  butterfly  flip-flap 
flights  and  die-away  cadences  ? "  And  the  old 
scholar  expressed  himself  sure  of  this,  that  neither 
grandfathers  or  grandmothers  ought  to  be  present 
when  their  grandchildren  trill  and  warble  inter- 
minable variations,  that  either  have  no  meaning,  or 
a  bad  one.  Wildrake  is  at  fault  when  he  hears  an 
old  air  thus  misrepresented, 

"'Twas  so  disguised 
With  shakes,  and  flourishes,  outlandish  things, 
That  mar,  not  grace,  an  honest  English  song, — " 

especially  when  executed  by  what  Sheridan's 
Acres  calls  "such  a  mistress  of  flat  and  sharp, 
squallante,  rumblante,  and  quiverante."  The  pre- 
sent musical  world,  Mr.  Eagles  complained,  won't 
compose  for  those  old  people  who  go  about  with 
cotton  in  their  ears  ;  and  he  thought  the  best  thing 
they  can  do  is  not  to  take  it  out,  but  to  add  a 
little  more  wadding,  that  they  might  have  a  chance 
of    not   hearing.*      One   of    the    interlocutors    in 

*  As  early  as  in  the  days  of  Salmagundi,  Washington 
Irving  spoke  of  modern  amateurs  as  estimating  music  in  pro- 
portion to  the  noise  it  makes,  and  as  delighting  in  thundering 
cannon  and  earthquakes.  He  makes  a  musical  correspondent 
and  professor  confess  that  he  has  already  broken  six  pianos 
in  giving  the  proper  force  and  effect  to  this  style,  but  entertain 


62     HIGH-PRESSURE  INSTRUMENTALISTS. 

Gryll    Grange,    who    commends    Haydn's    music 
as  a  full  stream  of  perfect  harmony  in  subjection 


a  hope  that  by  the  time  he  has  broken  eight  or  ten  more,  he 
shall  have  brought  it  to  such  perfection  as  to  be  able  to  teach 
any  demoiselle  of  tolerable  ear,  "to  thunder  away  to  the 
infinite  delight  of  papa  or  mamma,  and  the  great  annoyance 
of  those  Vandals  who  are  so  barbarous  as  to  prefer  the 
simple  melody  of  a  Scotch  air  to  the  sublime  effusions  of 
modern  musical  doctors."  Elsewhere  Geoffrey  Crayon  has 
his  metrical  fling  at  the  same  order  of  pupils,  taught 

*'  To  thump  and  thunder  through  a  song, 
Play  fortes  soft,  and  dolces  strong  ; 
Exhibit  loud  piano  feats, 
Caught  from  that  crotchet-hero,  Meetz,"  etc. 

Judge  Haliburton's  racy  philosopher  who  hails  from  Slick- 
ville,  is  outspoken  to  the  same  purpose.  "  What's  that  ?  It's 
music.  Well,  that's  artificial  too  ;  it's  scientific,  they  say  ; 
it's  done  by  rule.  Jist  look  at  that  gal  at  the  pianny  ;  first 
comes  a  little  Garman  thunder.  Good  airth  and  seas,  what 
a  crash  !  it  seems  as  if  she'd  bang  the  instrument  all  to  a 
thousand  pieces.  I  guess  she's  vexed  at  somebody,  and  is  a 
peggin'  it  into  the  pianny  out  of  spite."  Mrs.  Gore  sketches 
a  German  fraulein  suddenly  bursting  into  a  crashing  thunder- 
ing sonata,  of  the  high-pressure  instrumental  school,  who 
"  had  not  skirmished  up  and  down  the  keys  five  minutes 
before  my  [Cecil's]  nerves  were  demi-semiquavered  and  chro- 
maticized  into  a  state  of  anguish. — I  felt  as  if  I  had  swallowed 
a  glass  of  vitriol." 

The  Russian  ladies,  according  to  the  author  of  A  Journey 
Due  North,  are  accomplished  and  even  scientific  musicians  ; 
wonderful  pianistes — but  always  in  a  hard,  ringy,  metallic 
manner,  without  one  particle  of  soul.  Marvellous  executantes 
vocally,  he  calls  them,  who  can  rival  Italian  artistes  in  the 
way  of  roulades  and  fioriture  ;  "  but  sing  in  time,  or  tune 


DRY  DEVOTION  TO   COUNTERPOINT.      63 

to  exquisite  melody,  declares  that  in  simple  ballad 
strains,  that  go  direct  to  the  heart,  he  is  almost 
supreme  and  alone  ;  and  another  of  them  affirms, 
in  words  confessedly  similar  to  those  used  by 
Braham  before  a  Parliamentary  Committee  in  1832, 
that  there  is  a  beauty  and  an  appeal  to  the  heart 
in  ballads,  which  will  never  lose  its  effect  except 
on  those  with  whom  the  pretence  of  fashion  over- 
powers the  feelings  of  nature.  Sir  Walter  Scott 
repeats  with  glee  the  story  of  Mozart  dissuading 
Michael  Kelly  from  devoting  himself  to  the  dry 
and  abstract  study  of  counterpoint,  to  the  neglect 
of  the  powers  of  melody  with  which  nature  had 
endowed  him, — melody  being,  said  the  composer 
of  the  Nozze,  the  essence  of  music  ; — it  is  the 
proper  business  of  the  fine  arts,  Sir  Walter  Scott 
adds,  as  from  himself,  to  delight  the  world  at  large 
by  their  popular  effect,  rather  than  to  puzzle  and 
confound  them  by  depth  of  learning.  For  his  part, 
as  he  owns  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  whenever 
detected  (in  spite  of  his  snuffbox)  with  closed  eyes 
during  some  piece  of  erudite  and  complicated 
harmony,  he  determined  to  renounce  his  sometime 
apology,  that  he  shut  his  eyes  to  open  his  ears  all 
the  better,  and  boldly  to  avow,  instead,  with  Con- 


(especially),  they  cannot."    On  the  other  hand,  the  populace 
are  complimented  as  "  essentially  melodious." 


64  FINE  JUDGES  OF  FINE  ART. 

greve's  Jeremy,  that  although  he  had  a  reasonable 
ear  for  a  jig,  your  sonatas  gave  him  the  spleen. 
But  this  sort  of  doctrine  is  ever  to  be  noted  with  a 
caution.  Dr.  Crotch  does  battle  with  the  proposi- 
tion that  the  best  music  is  that  which  naturally 
pleases  those  who  have  not  studied  the  science. 
No  such  thing,  he  retorts.  Among  a  number  of 
hearers,  the  majority  will  be  best  pleased  by  music 
of  an  inferior  kind ;  and  something  analogous  to 
this  takes  place  in  all  the  arts, — for  the  finest 
efforts  of  art  will  appear  such  to  the  finest  judges 
only,  and  these  are  always  rare.  A  good  ear  and 
good  general  taste,  said  the  doctor,*  are  not  suffi- 
cient to  qualify  a  man  for  being  a  judge  of  music. 
11  We  often  hear  such  a  one  desire  to  be  lulled  to 
sleep  by  what  pleases  him  best.  If  he  were  really 
a  judge,  the  best  music  would  much  more  probably 
keep  him  awake."  There  is  a  test  propounded  by 
a  more  recent  authority  which  discriminates  musical 
compositions  from  a  point  of  view  diametrically 
opposite  to  that  of  your  mere  popular  critic — and 
that  is  the  tendency  of  everything  really  excellent, 
be  it  poem,  picture,  or  music,  to  improve  and  grow 
upon  us  with  further  acquaintance ;  nor  need  its 
first  impression  be,  comparatively  speaking,  vividly 


*  In  his  lectures  on  music  at  the  Royal  Institution,  in 
1820. 


CATCHING  TUNES.  65 

or  acutely  received.  Now  the  mere  popular  critic, 
the  "  ready-made  censor,"  usually  requires,  in  the 
cant  phrase  of  the  brotherhood,  "tunes  which  he 
can  carry  away  with  him," — that  is  to  say,  which 
he  can  pick  up  offhand,  as  a  street-boy  does  from 
an  organ-grinder.  "  We  once  heard  Meyerbeer's 
Huguenots  condemned  with  the  utmost  effrontery 
by  one  who  had  never  heard  the  opera  before,  and 
whose  knowledge  of  music  was  about  equivalent  to 
his  acquaintance  with  Lithuanian,  on  the  highly 
sufficient  ground  that,  since  he  could  not  recall 
a  single  air,  this  could,  therefore,  be  in  nowise 
a  remarkable  production."  The  same  writer  in 
another  place  observes  that  a  child  feeling  a 
perfectly  honest  delight  at  a  barrel-organ  tune  is 
hardly  qualified  to  understand  the  music  of  Men- 
delssohn. The  Ellesmere  of  Friends  in  Council 
gets  a  deserved  rap  from  his  lady-wife  when,  in 
one  of  the  intervals  in  Realmah,  he  institutes 
invidious  comparisons  between  the  players  of 
Beethoven's  music  and  the  player  of  common  tunes, 
— "  Old  Dog  Tray,"  "Early  in  the  Morning,"  "  Pop 
goes  the  Weasel,"  and  "  Paddle  your  own  Canoe," 
— all  of  which  tunes,  quoth  Sir  John,  "I  think 
beautiful  ;  but,  of  course,  because  the  populace 
approves  of  them,  which  populace  is  the  best  judge 
of  such  things,  my  Lady  Ellesmere  must  needs 
turn   up  her  nose   (and  a  very  pretty  one   it   is) 

5 


66  "  E  TH  10  PI  AN  SERENADERS." 

against  any  one  who  admires  these  tunes,  and  she 
declines  to  play  them  to  me."  Lady  Ellesmcre 
replies  that  she  can  well  imagine  he  does  admire 
these  "  tunes,"  as  he  calls  them  ;  and  that  certainly 
it  is  worth  her  while  to  get  up  Beethoven  for 
him,  when  an  Ethiopian  melody  satisfies  him  quite 
as  well. 

But  even  Sir  John  Ellesmere,  one  hopes  and 
believes,  would  at  any  rate  decline  to  pay  the 
street  performers  of  his  favourite  strains  *    To  him, 


*  One  of  Hogarth's  biographers,  well  qualified  to  sym- 
pathize with  his  Enraged  Musician,  freely  own  to  a  horror  of 
"  Ethiopian  serenaders,"  whose  battered  white  hats,  and  pre- 
posterous shirt  collars  and  cravats,  and  abnormal  eye-glasses, 
as  well  as  whose  bones,  banjos,  and  "  hideous  chants "  he 
holds  in  abhorrence.  He  sighs  for  an  hour  of  despotism  that 
he  might  have  those  sooty  scamps  put  under  the  pump, 
scrubbed  clean,  set  in  the  stocks  to  dry,  scourged,  clad  in 
hodden  gray,  and  then  set  to  break  stones  instead  of  rattling 
bones,  and  to  pick  oakum  instead  of  strumming  catgut.  Un- 
bounded is  his  invective  (which  we  are  for  applauding  to  the 
echo)  against  the  fellows  who,  willingly  and  of  malice  afore- 
thought, blacken  their  faces  and  hands,  and,  in  a  garb 
seemingly  "  raked  out  of  the  kennels  of  Philadelphia  and  the 
niggers'  dram-shops  of  the  Five  Points  at  New  York,"  arm 
themselves  with  the  musical  instruments  of  pagan  savages, 
repair  to  a  place  of  public  resort,  and  there,  for  hire  and  gain, 
"  howl  forth  by  the  hour  together  outrageous  screeds  of  dis- 
sonant cacophony,  with  words  couched  in  a  hideous  jargon 
that  Bosjemen  would  be  ashamed  of,  and  baboons  disdain  to 
imitate.  .  .  .  These  fellows  prance  and  yell  in  public  thorough- 


IN  THE  QUIET  STREET.  67 

studying  to-morrow's  briefs,  the  sooty  choristers 
who  wield  banjo  and  bones  would  surely  be  un- 
desirable  company.      What   must   the   periodical 


fares,  and  are  rewarded  with  coppers  by  the  unthinking  and 
the  vulgar." 

In  another  of  his  books  this  writer  owns  to  remembering, 
with  much  inward  trouble,  that  he  had  in  public  committed 
himself  more  than  once  in  favour  of  street  music — laughing 
at  the  folly  of  putting  down  bagpipes  and  barrel-organs  by 
Act  of  Parliament ;  and  he  essays  to  resign  himself  to  the 
axiom  that  the  few  must  always  suffer  for  the  enjoyment  of 
the  many  ;  that  the  sick,  the  nervous,  the  fastidious,  and  the 
hypochondriacal  are  but  drops  of  water  in  a  huge  ocean 
of  hale,  hearty,  somewhat  thick-skinned  and  thick-eared 
humanity  ;  of  robust  folk  who  "  like  the  noisy  vagabonds 
who  are  my  bane  and  terror  in  the  quiet  street,  and  admire 
their  distressing  performance." — Quiet  street,  quotha  ?  There 
revel  the  murderers  of  sleep,  the  banded  destroyers  of  peace 
of  mind,  the  solitary  singer  "  singing  for  the  million,"  in 
Hood's  sense  of  the  phrase ;  for  Hood  has  himself  sung  to 
some  purpose  his  story  of  how  "  in  one  of  those  small  quiet 
streets,  where  Business  retreats,  to  shun  the  daily  bustle  and 
the  noise  the  shoppy  Strand  enjoys,  but  Law,  Joint  Com- 
panies, and  Life  Assurance  find  past  endurance, —  in  one  of 
those  back  streets  to  peace  so  dear,"  he  heard  one  day  "  a 
ragged  wight  begin  to  sing  with  all  his  might,  'I  have  a 
silent  sorrow  here.' "  .  .  .  . 

14  The  noise  was  quite  appalling, — 
And  was  in  fact 
Only  a  forty  boatswain  power  of  bawling. 
In  vain  were  sashes  closed, 
And  doors  against  the  persevering  Stentor,— 
Through  brick,  and  glass,  and  solid  oak  opposed, 
The  intruding  voice  would  enter." 


68  COMPOSERS  AND  CLAMOUR. 

presence  of  such  a  crew  be  to  a  sensitive  composer 
of  crotchets  and  quavers  ?  How  does  M.  Stephen 
Heller  feel,  when  their  clamour  overtakes  him  in 
the  midst  of  a  Rivcric,  surpassingly  delicate  and 
refined  ?  How  relishes  M.  Gounod  their  accom- 
paniment to  an  opening  theme  of  his  ?  or  Sir 
Sterndale  Bennett  their  interposition  of  discord  to 
his  placid  harmonies  ?  or  Mr.  Macfarren  their 
boisterous  obbligato  to  one  of  his  ballad  strains  ? 
If  Longfellow's  artist  pines  for  the  revival  of  an 
ancient  law  which  forbade  those  who  followed  any 
noisy  handicraft  from  living  near  literary  men,  still 
more  earnest  and  interested  is  his  plea  that  musical 
composers,  poor  and  hard  beset,  and  who,  more- 
over, are  forced  to  coin  their  inspiration  into  gold, 
to  spin  out  the  thread  of  life  withal,  should  be 
allowed  to  apply  this  law  in  their  favour,  and 
banish  out  of  the  neighbourhood  all  ballad  singers 
and  bagpipers.  What,  he  asks,  would  a  painter 
say,  while  transferring  to  his  canvas  a  form  of  ideal 
beauty,  if  you  should  hold  up  before  him  all 
manner  of  wild  faces  and  ugly  masks  ?  But  then 
he  might  shut  his  eyes,  and  in  this  way,  at  least, 
quietly  follow  out  the  images  of  fancy.  Whereas 
in  the  case  of  brass  bands,  and  the  like,  "  cotton  in 
one's  ears  is  of  no  use,  one  still  hears  the  dreadful 
massacre.  And  then  the  idea,  the  bare  idea.  '  Xow 
they  are  going  to  sing — now  the  horn  strikes  up,' 


STOPPING  A   STREET-BAND.  69 


is  enough  to  send  one's  sublimest  conceptions" 
whither  one  would  not.  And  this  sort  of  thing  you 
are  asked  to  pay  for !  *     Dr.  Holmes  may  well  be, 

*  Many  a  weakly  goodnatured   man  pays  very  much  in 
the  spirit  and  with  the  sense  of  the  clown  in  Othello,  when 
the  musicians  have  duly  exercised  their  wind  instruments  in 
front  of  the  castle  : 
"  Clo.  Masters,  here's  money  for  you;  and  the  General  so  likes  your 

music,  that  he  desires  you,  of  all  loves,  to  make  no  more  noise 

with  it. 
"  1  Mus.  Well,  sir,  we  will  not. 
"  Clo.  If  you  have  any  music  that  may  not  be  heard,  to't  again  :  but, 

as  they  say,  to  hear  music  the  General  does  not  greatly  care. 
"  1  Mus.  We  have  none  such,  sir. 
"  Clo.  Then  put  up  your  pipes  in  your  bag,  for  I'll  away.     Go  ;  vanish 

into  air  ;  away." 

Othello,  Act  iii.,  Sc.  1. 

This  sort  of  Ite,  missa  est,  is  of  a  sort  with  that  of  the  Princess 
Augusta  addressed  to  Madame  d'Arblay's  little  boy,  when 
the  royal  family  were  making  much  of  him,  and  plying  him 
with  toys.  "  Princess  Elizabeth  now  began  playing  upon  an 
organ  she  had  brought  him,  which  he  flew  to  seize.  '  Ay,  do  ! 
that's  right,  my  dear  ! '  cried  Princess  Augusta,  stopping  her 
ears  at  some  discordant  sounds  :  'take  it  to  mon  ami,  to 
frighten  the  cats  out  of  his  garden.' "  A  very  legitimate  use 
of  the  instrument  in  general, — if  only  one  cculd  frighten  the 
cats  without  torturing  humanity  at  the  same  time. 

All  our  sympathies  are  with  Matthew  Bramble,  "  starting 
and  staring,  with  marks  of  indignation  and  disquiet,"  at  the 
sudden  burst  of  sound  from  one  street  band — and  with  his 
peremptory  message  to  another,  to  "  silence  those  dreadful 
blasts."  And  even  with  Sheridan's  Don  Jerome,  complaining 
from  his  open  window, 

' '  What  vagabonds  are  these  I  hear, 

Fiddling,  fluting,  rhyming,  ranting, 

Piping,  scraping,  whining,  canting?" 


70    '  BRASS-BAND  MAL-PRACTICE. 

and  does  well  to  be,  sore  on  that  sore  point,  in 

his   Music-Grinders,   where,    after   describing    the 

approach  of  the  troublers  from  afar,  getting  nearer 

and  nearer,  till  you  hear  a  sound  that  seems  to 

wear  the  semblance  of  a  tune,  as  if  a  broken  fife 

should  strive  to   drown  a   cracked   bassoon,    and 

nearer,  nearer  still  the  tide  of  "  music  "  seems  to 

come,  with   something  like   a   human   voice,   and 

something  like  a  drum,  the  while  you  sit  in  agony, 

until  you  ear  is  numb,  listening  in  your  own  despite 

to  performers  whose  mission  it  seemingly  is  "to 

crack  the  voice  of  Melody,  and  break  the  legs  of 

Time  ; " — after  thus  picturing  the  performers  and 

the  performances  he  continues — 

"  But  hark  !  the  air  again  is  still,  the  music  all  is  ground, 
And  silence,  like  a  poultice,  comes  to  heal  the  blows  of 

sound  ; 
It  cannot  be, — it  is, — it  is, — a  hat  is  going  round  ! 

And  with  Anstey's  fractious  old  gouty  peer,  protesting  against 
the  fiddlers  "  come  hither  to  make  all  this  rout,"  with  their 
vile  "  squeaking  catgut  that's  worse  than  the  gout."  And 
with  Hook  anathematizing  a  brass  band  "  with  those  terrible 
wind  instruments,  which  roar  away  in  defiance  of  all  rule, 
except  that  which  Hoyle  addresses  to  young  whist  players 
when  in  doubt— trump  it."  And  with  Ben  Jonson's  Morose, 
excruciated  by  conspirators  against  his  peace,  who  hire 
musicians  to  strike  up  all  together,  so  that  he  feels  himself 
their  anvil  to  work  on  ;  they  grate  him  asunder. 

"  Daup.  What  ails  you,  sir? 

"  Mor.  They  have  rent  my  roof,  walls,  and  all  my  windows  asunder, 
with  their  brazen  throats." 


BRONZE  FOR  BRASS. 


"  No  !  Pay  the  dentist  when  he  leaves  a  fracture  in  your  jaw, 
And  pay  the  owner  of  the  bear  that  stunned  you  with  his 

paw, 
And  buy  the  lobster  that  has  had  your  knuckles  in  his  claw  : 

"  But  if  you  are  a  portly  man,  put  on  your  fiercest  frown, 
And  talk  about  a  constable  to  turn  them  out  of  town  ; 
Then  close  your  sentence  with  a  slam,  and  shut  the  window 
down. 

"  And  if  you  are  a  slender  man,  not  big  enough  for  that, 
Or  if  you  cannot  make  a  speech,  because  you  are  a  flat, 
Go  very  quietly  and  drop  a  button  in  the  hat." 

But,  portly  or  slender,  on  no  account  pay  them 
to  go  away.  That  is  paying  them  to  come  again. 
And  yet  there  is  sweet  simplicity  enough  in  the 
world  to  go  on  doing  this.  Of  course  the  brazen- 
faced brass-mouthed  gentry  like,  of  all  things,  to 
be  stopped  short  in  their  playing,  and  paid  for 
being  so  dismissed ;  for  that  is  getting  the  pay 
without  the  windy-windy  toil  and  trouble.  And  of 
course  they  come  again,  under  such  auspices. 
There  is  a  shrewd  organ-grinder  who  turns  up 
every  Saturday  morning  at  half-past  eight  in  front 
of  a  certain  large  house  in  a  certain  favourite 
suburb ;  for  it  is  the  hour  of  family  prayers,  and 
as  they  can't  stand  his  noise,  they  pay  him  to  go 
away  after  he  has  ground  a  few  bars.  Pay  him 
handsomely  too,  and  keep  on  doing  it.  He  will 
not  be  the  first  to  get  tired  of  this. 


72 


V. 

»>aul'0  Sl^aiatip  anti  2DaW£  Q$inmtl#y* 

i  Samuel  xvi.  23  ;  xix.  9,  10. 

DEAN  MILMAN,  in  that  chapter  of  his 
History  of  tJie  Jews  which  treats  of  David 
playing  before  Saul,  makes  a  clear  statement  of 
what  the  cardinal  difficulty  in  the  Scriptural  narra- 
tive is  : — If  David,  according  to  the  order  of  events 
in  the  Book  of  Samuel,  had  already  attended  the 
sick  couch  of  Saul  as  minstrel,  and  had  been 
rewarded  for  his  services  with  the  office  of  armour- 
bearer,  and  so  became  intimately  attached  to  the 
person  of  the  king — how  could  he  be  the  un- 
known Shepherd-boy  who  appeared  to  combat  with 
Goliath  in  the  field  of  Ephez-dammim  ?  On  the 
other  hand,  if  already  distinguished  as  the  conqueror 

*  For  additional  illustrations  of  this  subject,  see  the 
section  headed  "  Medicamental  Music,"  in  the  First  Series 
of  my  Secular  A?motatio?is  on  Scripture  Texts,  pp.  55 — 
60. 


DA  VIUS  MINSTRELSY.  73 

of  Goliath,  how  could  he  be,  as  it  appears  from  the 
record,  a  youthful  stranger,  only  known  by  report 
as  an  excellent  musician,  when  summoned  to  the 
couch  of  Saul  ?  While  taking  what  seems  to  him 
the  least  improbable  arrangement,  Milman  cannot 
refrain  from  saying  that  the  early  life  of  David,  in 
the  Book  of  Samuel,  reads  much  like  a  collection 
of  traditions,  unharmonized,  and  taken  from  earlier 
lives  (lives  of  David  are  ascribed  to  Samuel,  to 
Gad,  and  to  Nathan),  or  from  poems  in  his  praise. 
For  of  old  time  there  were  Songs  to  David  such  as 
Christopher  Smart  in  these  latter  days  indited — to 
David,  great,  valiant,  pious,  good,  sublime,  contem- 
plative, serene,  strong,  constant,  pleasant,  wise, — 
so  the  epithets  run  in  Smart's  ascription,  and  to 
each  epithet  he  devotes  a  stanza  ;  abundant  stanzas 
following  in  praise  of  the  sweet  singer,  holy  psalmist, 
skilled  harper,  whose 

"  Muse,  bright  angel  of  his  verse, 
Gives  balm  for  all  the  thorns  that  pierce, 

For  all  the  pangs  that  rage ; 
Blest  light,  still  gaining  on  the  gloom, 
The  more  than  Michal  of  his  bloom, 

The  Abishag  of  his  age. 


"  Blest  was  the  tenderness  he  felt, 
When  to  his  graceful  harp  he  knelt, 
And  did  for  audience  call ; 


74  SAULS  MALADY. 


When  Satan  with  his  hand  he  quell'd, 
And  in  serene  suspense  he  held 
The  frantic  throes  of  Saul."  * 

Of  course  old  Burton,  in  his  Anatomy  of  Melan- 
choly, neglects  not  to  take  special  cognizance  of 
music  as  a  potent  remedy,  or  aid  and  appliance 
towards  perfect  cure,  of  that  too  impracticable 
malady.  He  cites  the  relief  afforded  by  it,  in  the 
hands  of  Asclepiades  the  physician,  to  many  frantic 

*  Cowley  speaks  of  David  as  sent  for  "in  treacherous 
haste  "  to  the  king, 

"And  with  him  bid  his  charmful  lyre  to  bring. 
The  king,  they  saw,  lies  raging  in  a  fit, 
Which  does  no  cure  but  sacred  tunes  admit ; 
And  twice  it  was  soft  music  did  appease 
Th'  obscure  fantastic  rage  of  Saul's  disease." 

And  the  author  of  the  Davideis  goes  on  to  relate  how 

"sang  the  great  musician  to  his  lyre, 
And  Saul's  black  rage  grew*  softly  to  retire  ; 
Eut  envy's  serpent  still  with  him  remained, 
And  the  wise  charmer's  healthful  voice  disdained." 

James  Grahame  details,  in  blank  verse,  the  very  themes  of 
the  Bethlehem  minstrel's  strain  : 

"  Deep  was  the  furrow  in  the  royal  brow 
When  David's  hand,  lightly  as  vernal  gales 
Rippling  the  brook  of  Kedron,  skimmed  the  lyre  : 
He  sang  of  Jacob's  youngest  born,  the  child 
Of  his  old  age,  sold  to  the  Ishmaelite  ; 
His  exaltation  to  the  second  power 
In  Pharaoh's  realm  ;  his  brethren  thither  sent ; 
Suppliant  they  stood  before  his  face,  well  known, 
Unknowing — till  Joseph  fell  upon  the  neck 
Of  Benjamin,  his  mother's  son,  and  wept 


SATURNINE  SPORTS. 


persons,  and  tells  how  Clinias  and  Empedocles 
"  cured  some  desperately  melancholy,  and  some 
mad,"  by  the  same  means.  A  "sovereign  remedy" 
he  calls  it  against  despair  and  melancholy,  and  one 
that  "will  drive  away  the  devil  himself."  "It  expels 
cares,  alters  grieved  minds,  and  easeth  in  an  instant." 
Many  are  the  prescriptions  suggested  or  sanctioned 
by  Luther,  in  his  table-talk,  for  getting  rid  of  the 
devil  ;  and  among  these,  music  is  of  prime  value  in 
the  Reformer's  esteem — "for  the  devil  is  a  saturnine 
spirit,  and  music  is  hateful  to  him,  and  drives  him 
far  away  from  it."  It  is  a  countryman  of  his  upon 
whom  Southey  drops  a  passing  note  of  admiration, 
in  The  Doctor,  for  that  he,  a  physician,  "adminis- 
tered cat's  entrails  as  a  panacea,"      Read  catgut, 


Unconsci6usly  the  warlike  shepherd  paused  ; 
But  when  he  saw,  down  the  yet  quivering  string, 
The  tear-drop  trembling  glide,  abashed,  he  checked, 
Indignant  at  himself,  the  bursting  flood, 
And,  with  a  sweep  impetuous,  struck  the  chords : 
From  side  to  side  his  hands  transversely  glance, 
Like  lightning  'thwart  a  stormy  sea  ;  his  voice 
Arises  'mid  the  clang,  and  straightway  calms 
The  harmonious  tempest,  to  a  solemn  swell 
Majestical,  triumphant ;  for  he  sings 
Of  Arad's  mighty  host  by  Israel's  arm 
Subdued  ;  of  Israel  through  the  desert  led 
He  sings ;  of  him  who  was  their  leader,  called, 
By  God  Himself,  from  keeping  Jethro's  flock, 
To  be  a  ruler  o'er  the  chosen  race. 
Kindles  the  eye  of  Saul ;  his  arm  is  poised  ; 
Harmless  the  javelin  quiversin  the  wall." 


/6  SOOTHING  STRAINS. 

and  would  not  Luther  have  almost  approved  the 
remedy  ? 

Kings,  princes,  courtiers,  counts,  barons,  and 
indeed  men  of  every  degree,  love  chansons,  as  an 
Anglo-Norman  jongleur,  Denis  Pyram,  says, — 

"  Car  ils  otent  le  noir  penser, 
Deuil  et  ennui  font  oublier." 

Charles  IX.  of  France,  whose  "conscience-pangs" 

on  account  of  his  share  in  the   massacre  of  St. 

Bartholomew  admitted,  as  in  Saul's   case,  of  no 

alleviation,  save  that  afforded   by    music,  invited 

Orlando  di  Lasso  to  Paris,  to  become  his  maitre- 

dc-chapelle,  and  the  exorciser  of  the  evil  spirit  that , 

oppressed  him.     Ben  Jonson  in  the  praise  of  music 

he  versified  and  addressed  to  Alphonso  Ferrobosco, 

the  composer  of  most  of  his  masques,  speaks   of 

this  among  her 

"  known  effects, 

That  she  removeth  cares,  sadness  ejects, 

And  is  to  a  body,  often,  ill  inclined, 

No  less  a  sovereign  cure  than  to  the  mind." 

Old  General  Lepel  who  lived  in  the  same  house 
in  Rome  with  Mendelssohn,  would  steal  into  the 
room  and  listen  while  Felix  extemporized  at  the 
pianoforte — and  say  that  if  assailed  by  bad  thoughts, 
how  glad  he  should  be  to  have  them  all  breathed 
away — so  !  so  !— just  as  the  player  had  done  in  his 
strains. 


MINSTREL  AND  MADMAN.  77 

Allan  M'Aulay,  in  Scott's  Lege?id  of  Montrose, 
is  only  to  be  calmed  and  softened  in  his  dark  moods 
by  the  harp  and  voice  of  little  Annot  Lyle.  Her 
playing  on  the  clairshach  "  produced  upon  the  dis- 
turbed spirits  of  Allan,  in  his  gloomiest  moods, 
beneficial  effects,  similar  to  those  experienced  by 
the  Jewish  monarch  of  old."  "Send  for  Annot 
Lyle,  and  the  harp,"  is  the  bidding  of  Angus,  when 
Allan's  fit  is  seen  to  be  coming  on.  She  comes  at 
once,  and  sings,  and  plays,  and  as  the  strain  pro- 
ceeds, Allan  gradually  gives  signs  of  recovering  his 
self-possession  :  the  deep-knit  furrows  of  his  brow 
relax  and  smooth  themselves ;  and  the  rest  of  his 
features,  seemingly  contorted  with  internal  agony, 
relapse  into  a  more  natural  state.  His  countenance, 
though  still  deeply  melancholy,  is  divested  of  its 
wildness  and  ferocity;  and  the  eyes,  which  had 
flashed  with  a  portentous  gleam,  now  recover  a 
steady  and  determined  expression.  "Thank  God!" 
he  says,  after  sitting  in  silence  for  about  a  minute, 
until  the  very  last  sounds  of  the  harp  have  ceased 
to  vibrate, — "my  soul  is  no  longer  darkened — the 
mist  hath  passed  from  my  spirit."*     The  darkened 


*  But  ere  long  his  converse  is  on  a  subject  and  in  a  tone 
that  makes  Menteith  say,  as  Allan  leaves  the  room,  "  Should 
he  talk  long  in  this  manner,  you  must  keep  your  harp  in 
tune,  my  dear  Annot." — A  Legend  of  Montrose,  chap.  vi.  . 


78  THE  MINSTREL   WANTING. 

recluse  Clement,  in  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth, 
casting  his  despairing  eyes  over  antiquity  to  see 
what  weapons  the  Christian  arsenal  contains  that 
may  befriend  him,  finds  the  greatest  of  all  to  be 
prayer ;  but  then  it  is  a  part  of  his  malady  to  be 
unable  to  pray  with  true  fervour :  he  bethinks  him, 
anon,  that  a  fiend  of  this  complexion  had  been 
driven  out  of  King  Saul  by  music ;  so  Clement  takes 
up  the  hermit's  psaltery,  and  with  much  trouble 
mends  the  strings,  and  tunes  it.  "No,  he  could 
not  play  it.  His  soul  was  so  out  of  tune.  The 
sounds  jarred  on  it,  and  made  him  almost  mad. 
1  Ah,  wretched  me,'  he  cried.  'Saul  had  a  saint  to 
play  to  him.  He  was  not  alone  with  the  spirits  of 
darkness ;  but  here  is  no  sweet  bard  of  Israel  to  play 
to  me;  I,  lonely,  with  crushed  heart,  on  which  a 
black  fiend  sitteth,  mountain  high,  must  make  the 
music  to  uplift  that  heart  to  heaven.  It  may  not 
be.' "  *  And  he  grovels  on  the  earth,  weeping  and 
tearing  his  hair. 

*  In  another  of  Mr.  Reade's  books,  a  man  in  trouble 
pleads  for  a  song  to  be  sung  by  the  voice  he  loves  best, — a 
song  of  the  olden  time  ;  and  "  as  spirits  are  said  to  over- 
come the  man  at  whose  behest  they  rise,  so  this  sweet  air, 
and  the  gush  of  reminiscence  it  awakened,  overpowered  him 
who  had  evoked  them."  His  eyes  are  no  longer  fiery,  but 
tearful ;  and  if  his  heart  still  swells,  it  is  no  longer  with  in- 
dignation. 

Mr.  Disraeli's  young  duke  (par  excellence,  and  in  pras- 


MILTONIC  NOTES  ANGELICAL.  79 

Even  in  the  inferno  of  Milton  are  heard  bewitch- 
ing strains  in  Dorian  mood  of  flutes  and  soft  re- 
corders, 

"  Not  wanting  power  to  mitigate  and  swage, 
With  solemn  touches,  troubled  thoughts,-  and  chase 
Anguish,  and  doubt,  and  fear,  and  sorrow,  and  pain, 
From  mortal  or  immortal  minds." 

Even  there  too  the  harp  is  heard,  as  it  is  in  heaven. 
For  if  the  spirits  elect  take  their  golden  harps — 
harps  ever  tuned,  that  glittering  by  their  side  like 
quivers  hung ;  and  if  in  their  hosannahs  "the  harp 
had  work,  and  rested  not ; "  of  the  fallen  angels 
too  we  read,  that  some,  the  milder  spirits  among 
them,  retreated  in  a  silent  valley,  sang  with  notes 
angelical,  to  many  a  harp,  their  own  heroic  deeds 
and  hapless  fall  by  doom  of  battle. 

Lotharian  days,)  is  similarly  operated  upon  by  Miss  Dacre. 
He  is  most  miserable,  he  tells  her.  Why  ?  To  ask,  is  to 
agonize  him.  Well ;  shall  she  sing,  then  ?  "  Shall  I  charm 
the  evil  spirit  ?  "  A  ready  assent  ;  and  the  charmer  takes 
her  seat  at  the  piano,  and  warbles,  and  fills  the  room  with 
the  delight  of  her  strain.  "He  listened,  and  each  instant 
the  chilly  weight  loosened  from  his  heart." 

O'KeefTe,  in  his  autobiography,  tells  how  he  soothed  into 
serenity,  when  ruffled  into  resentment,  the  composer,  Thomas 
Carter,  by  dint  simply  of  singing  to  him  his  own  delightful 
composition,  "  Oh  Nanny,  wilt  thou  gang  with  me."  Well 
known  is  the  story  of  the  two  assassins  hired  to  kill  Stradella, 
who,  waiting  for  the  moment  to  strike  their  victim — it  was  by 
night,  and  in  church — were  so  overcome  by  the  charm  of  his 
voice  and  strains,  that  they  renounced  their  purpose. 


So  EXORCISED  BY  SONG. 

"  Their  song  was  partial  ;  but  the  harmony 
(What  could  it  less,  when  spirits  immortal  sing  ?) 
Suspended  Hell,  and  took  with  ravishment 
The  thronging  audience." 

Binsfeldius,  quoted  by  Mr.  Lecky  in  his  chapter 
.  n  Magic  and  Witchcraft,  refers  to  what  was  always 
>bserved  by  the  inquisitors — that  music,  which 
,  oothes  the  passions,  and  allays  the  bitterness  of 
regret  and  of  remorse,  had  an  extraordinary  power 
over  the  possessed.  King  Saul  had  no  such  inward 
recognition,  cruelly  definite,  of  an  indwelling  evil 
spirit,  to  be  exorcised  by  David's  harp,  as  had  these 
unhappy  creatures.  But  not  even  King  Saul's 
malady  was  more  susceptible  of  alleviation  by  the 
harp  music,  than  was  theirs.  The  cure  in  their  in- 
stance might  have  gained  in  speed  and  in  efficacy, 
could  they  have  been  led  to  believe,  in  those  ages 
of  faith  and  of  relics,  that  the  harp  they  listened  to 
was  David's  own  harp* — such  tricks,  in  Shakspeare's 

*  Sir  James  Stephen  tells  us  in  his  graphic  account  of  the 
so-called  Clapham  Sect,  that  among  the  barges  which  floated 
of  a  summer  evening  by  the  villa  of  Pope  and  the  chateau  of 
Horace  Walpole,  none  was  more  constant  and  joyous  than 
that  in  which  Granville  Sharpe's  harp  or  kettledrum  sustained 
the  flute  of  one  brother,  the  hautboy  of  another,  and  the 
melodious  voices  of  their  sisters.  The  said  harp  was  fashioned, 
brother  Granville  maintained,  in  exact  imitation  of  that  of 
the  son  of  Jesse  ;  and  to  complete  the  resemblance,  it  was 
his  delight,  at  the  break  of  day,  to  "  sing  to  it  one  of  the 


SOLACE  TO   THE  SUFFERING.  81 

phrase,  hath  strong  imagination,  and  so  potent  hath 
its  agency  been  found  in  the  way  of  remedial  aids 
and  appliances. 

Great  is  the  solace  afforded  by  music  to  some 
that  suffer  keenly,  and  suffer  unseen.  Charles  de 
Bernard  says  that  upour  le  cceur  priv6  d'un  autre 
cceur  ou  se  puissent  verser  sa  joie  et  sa  peine,  la 
musique  est  un  ami  qui  ecoute  et  repond.  Sous 
les  doigts  qui  l'interrogent,  l'instrument  recoit  la 
pression  de  Tame  souffrante,  et  s'anime  pour  la 
consoler.  Le  souffle  de  la  douleur  errant  sur  le 
clavier  eveille  une  harmonie  qui  la  berce  et  Tendort, 
ou  la  distrait  par  une  exaltation  passagere."  "Give 
me  some  music,"  was  the  demand  of  the  late 
Duchess  of  Orleans,  as  she  neared  her  end:  "music 
calms  my  thoughts ;  it  cheats  me  out  of  my  feelings 
without  doing  them  violence."  The  girl-heroine  of 
a  popular  modern  fiction,  condemned  to  perpetual 
silence  in  every  other  tongue,  finds  in  music  a  new 
and  glorious  language.  Forbidden  to  read  romance 
or  poetry,  she  is  not  forbidden  to  sit  at  her  piano, 

songs  of  Zion  in  his  chamber — raised  by  many  an  intervening 
staircase  far  above  the  Temple  Gardens,  where  young  stu- 
dents of  those  times  would  often  pause  in  their  morning 
stroll,  to  listen  to  the  not  unpleasing  cadence,  though  the 
voice  was  broken  by  age,  and  the  language  was  to  them  an 
unknown  tongue," — for  Granville  Sharpe  was  learned  in 
Hebrew,  and  claimed  to  sing  and  play  as  Darid  sang  and 
played. 

6 


82  MUSIC  A   SOLACE 

when  the  day's  toils  are  over,  and  the  twilight  is 
dusky,  in  her  quiet  room,  playing  dreamy  melodies 
from  the  great  German  masters,  and  making  her 
own  poetry  to  Mendelssohn's  wordless  songs. 
"Her  soul  must  surely  have  shrunk  and  withered 
away  altogether  had  it  not  been  for  this  one  re- 
source, this  one  refuge,  in  which  her  mind  regained 
its  elasticity,  springing  up,  like  a  trampled  flower, 
into  new  life  and  beauty."  To  apply  the  words  of 
one  of  Goethe's  dramatic  self-communers — 

"  One  pleasure  cheers  me  in  my  solitude, 
The  joy  of  song.     I  commune  with  myself, 
And  lull  with  soothing  tones  the  sense  of  pain, 
The  restless  longing,  the  unquiet  wish, — 
Till  sorrow  oft  will  grow  to  ravishment, 
And  sadness  self  to  harmony  divine." 

Often,  here  and  there,  over  the  wide  world,  says 
Balzac,  "une  jeune  fille  expirant  sous  le  poids  d'une 
peine  inconnue,  un  homme  dont  Tame  vibre  sous 
les  pincements  d'une  passion,  prennent  un  theme 
musical  et  s'entendent  avec  le  ciel,*  ou  se  parlent  a 
eux-memes  dans  quelque  sublime  melodie."     The 


*  Or  it  may  be,  with  Another  Place.  "  There  is  a  sonata 
of  Beethoven's  (I  forget  the  number),"  writes  Miss  Gwilt  in 
her  Diary.  "  which  always  suggests  to  me  the  agony  of  lost 
spirits  in  a  place  of  torment.  Come,  my  fingers  and  thumbs, 
and  take  me  among  the  lost  spirits,  this  morning  !  " — Arma- 
dale, book  iv.,  chap.  i. 


AND  A  SAFETY-VALVE.  83 

author  of  Elsie  Vainer 'bids  us  beware  of  the  woman 
who  cannot  find  free  utterance  for  all  her  stormy 
inner  life  either  in  words  or  song.  If  she  can  sing, 
or  play  on  any  musical  instrument,  all  her  wicked- 
ness, he  promises  us,  shall  run  off  through  her 
throat  or  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  (Miss  Gwilt,  in 
the  last  foot-note,  is  sadly  an  exception  to  the 
rule;  a  very  strong  exception  indeed,  but  scarcely 
strong  enough  to  prove  the  rule.)  Many  a  tragedy, 
on  Dr.  Holmes's  showing,  finds  its  peaceful  catas- 
trophe in  fierce  roulades  and  strenuous  bravuras; 
many  a  murder  is  executed  in  double-quick  time 
upon  the  keys  which  stab  the  air  with  their  dagger- 
strokes  of  sound.  What  would  civilization,  he  asks, 
be  without  the  piano?  Are  not  Erard  and  Broad- 
wood  the  two  humanizers  of  our  time?  Therefore 
professes  he  to  love  to  hear  the  all-pervading  turn- 
turn  from  houses  in  obscure  streets  and  courts 
which  to  know  is  to  be  unknown,  or  even  from  the 
"open  windows  of  the  small,  unlovely  farm-house, 
tenanted  by  the  hard-handed  man  of  bovine  fla- 
vours, and  the  flat-patterned  woman  of  broken- 
down  countenance."* 


*  "  For  who  knows  that  Almira,  but  for  those  keys,  which 
throb  away  her  wild  impulses  in  harmless  discords,  would 
not  have  been  floating,  dead,  in  the  brown  stream  which 
slides  through  the  meadows  by  her  father's  door — or  living, 
with  that  other  current  which  runs  beneath  the  gaslights  over 


84  TO   THE  LAST 


To  the  last,  and  at  the  last,  music  has  been  to 
many  that  thing  of  beauty  which  is  a  joy  for  ever. 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  solaced  to  the  last,  and  at 
the  last,  by  music, — listening  particularly  to  a 
strange  song  which  he  had  himself  composed 
during  his  illness,  and  which  he  had  entitled  "  La 
Cuisse  rompue."* 

Very  characteristic  was  the  title  Rousseau  gave 
to  that  century,  or  thereabouts,  of  the  romances  he 
set  to  music, — Consolations  des  Miseres  de  ma  Vie. 
Earl  Russell  tells  us  of  Thomas  Moore  that  to  the 
last  day  of  his  life  he  would  sing,  or  ask  his  wife  to 
sing  to  him,  the  favourite  airs  of  his  bygone  days  : 
dying,  he  "  warbled  ; "  and  a  "  fond  love  of  music 
never  left  him  but  with  life."  Fiction  has  its  repre- 
sentative men  in  this  line  of  things.  The  old 
German,  Joseph  Buschmann,  in  a  well-known  story, 
reckons  on  one  kind  ministrant  to  hold  his  darling 
musical-box  to  his  ear,  when  his  own  strength  shall 
fail  him,  and  his  senses  be  dulled — the  box  that  the 
hand  of  Mozart  had  touched — to  hold  it  "closer, 
closer  always,  when  Joseph  moans  for  the  friendly 
music  he  has  known   from   a   baby,  the   friendly 


the  slimy  pavement,  choking  with  wretched  weeds  that  were 
once  in  spotless  flower  ?  " — Elsie  Ve?mer,  chap,  xxiii. 

*  The  fatal  wound  at  Zutphen  was  from  a  musket-ball 
which  struck  him  upon  the  thigh,  three  inches  above  the 
knee. 


AND  AT  THE  LAST.  85 

music  that  he  can  now  so  hardly,  hardly  hear."  To 
the  same  author  we  owe  a  certain  ode  on  music, 
one  stanza  of  which  is  pertinent  in  this  connection; 
impersonated  music  loquitur  : 

"  Still  pleased,  my  solace  I  impart, 

Where  brightest  hopes  are  scattered  dead  ; 
'Tis  mine — sweet  gift ! — to  charm  the  heart, 
Though  all  its  other  joys  have  fled." 


86 


VI. 

#  Musical  ££onarcIj* 

2  Samuel  vi.  5. 

AT  the  bringing  of  the  ark  of  God  out  of  the 
house  of  Abinadab,  which  was  at  Gibeah, 
whence,  after  an  unforeseen  transfer  to  the  house 
of  Obed-edom,  it  was  brought,  three  months  later, 
into  the  city  of  David  with  gladness,  "  David,  and 
all  the  house  of  Israel,  played  before  the  Lord  on 
all  manner  of  instruments  made  of  fir-wood,  even 
on  harps,  and  on  psalteries,  and  on  timbrels,  and  on 
cornets,  and  on  cymbals."  The  royal  harper  was 
in  his  element  that  day.  That  he  played  with  his 
might  we  are  as  sure,  as  the  express  assurance  of 
Scripture  makes  us  that  he  "  danced  with  his 
might,"  when  the  ark  was  conveyed  to  the  taber- 
nacle he  had  pitched  for  it. 

In  the  Characteristics  of  Lord  Shaftesbury  it  is 
argued,  and  in  his  lordship's  *  characteristic  "  way, 
that  if  the  first  Jewish  princes  acted  in  real  ac- 


MERRY"  MONARCH.  87 


cordance  to  the  Mosaic  institutions,  "  not  only 
music,  but  even  play  and  dance,  were  of  holy 
appointment  and  divine  right."  The  first  monarch 
of  this  nation,  he  goes  on  to  remark,  "  though  of 
a  melancholy  complexion,"  joined  music  with  his 
spiritual  exercises,  and  even  used  it  as  a  remedy 
under  that  "  dark  enthusiasm,  or  evil  spirit,"  which 
possessed  him.  "  'Tis  certain  that  the  successor  of 
this  prince  was  a  hearty  espouser  of  the  merry 
devotion,  and  by  his  example  has  shown  it  to  have 
been  fundamental  in  the  religious  constitution  of 
his  people."*     Nemo  saltat  sobrius,  says  the  pro- 

*  The  famous  entry  or  high  dance  performed  by  him,  after 
so  conspicuous  a  manner,  in  the  procession  of  the  sacred 
coffer,  shows  that  he  was  not  ashamed  of  expressing  any 
ecstasy  of  joy  or  playsome  humour,  which  was  practised  by 
the  meanest  of  the  priests  or  people  on  such  an  occasion." 
—  Characteristics,  vol.  iii.,  MiscelL  Reflections,  chap.  iii. 

Shaftesbury  appends  a  foot-note  in  which  he  studiously 
views  the  royal  dancer  through  Michal's  eyes. 

Many  are  the  moderns  that  do  so  ;  and  not  only  the  very 
most  but  the  very  worst  is  made  of  David's  performance. 
Adam  Smith  observes  that  the  man  who  skips  and  dances 
about  with  that  intemperate  and  senseless  joy  which  we  cannot 
accompany  him  in,  is  the  object  of  our  contempt  and  indigna- 
tion. That  is  said  in  the  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiment  (Part  I., 
sec.  iii.,  chap,  i.)  ;  and  lack  of  sympathy  is  the  motive  cause 
(for  this  effect  defective  comes  by  cause)  of  the  strictures  on 
King  David.  Scoffers  of  every  size  are  glad  to  have  a  hit 
at  him  ;  whether  in  the  spirit  of  the  French  satirist, 

"  Le  roi  David,  danseur  tr6s  vigoureux, 
Quitta  sa  harpe,"  — 


88         DANCING  AND  ITS  DENOUNCERS. 

verb  :   but   in   what   kind   of  dance  ?  that   is   the 
question,  with    Burton   at   least,  in   his  Anatomy. 

or  in  that  of  austere  denouncers  of  dancing,  absolute,  and 
universally. 

Among  the  old  Scottish  noteworthies  commemorated  in 
Dean  Ramsay's  Reminiscences  is  Dr.  Scott,  minister  of 
Carlisle,  described  as  a  fine,  graceful,  kindly  man,  bag- 
wigged,  and  cane  in  hand,  with  a  friendly  word  to  every  one  ; 
who,  upon  one  occasion,  after  "  officiating  at  a  bridal "  in  his 
parish,  waited  awhile  till  the  young  people  were  "  fairly 
warmed  in  the  dance."  The  leader  of  a  "  dissenting  body 
that  had  sprung  up  in  the  parish  "  was  present,  and  ques- 
tioned Dr.  Scott  on  the  propriety  of  his  thus  sanctioning  by 
his  presence  "  so  sinful  an  enjoyment."  "  Weel,  minister, 
what  think  ye  o'  this  dancing?"  "Why,  John,"  said  the 
minister,  blithely,  "  I  think  it  an  excellent  exercise  for  young 
people,  and,  I  dare  say,  so  do  you."  "  Ah,  sir,  I'm  no  sure 
about  it ;  I  see  no  authority  fort  in  the  Scriptures."  "  Umph, 
indeed,  John  ;  you  cannot  forget  David."  "Ah,  sir,  Dauvid; 
gif  they  were  a'  to  dance  as  Dauvid  did,  it  would  be  a 
different  thing  a-the-gither."  "  Hoot  o  fie,  hoot  o  fie,  John  ; 
would  ye  have  the  young  folk  strip  to  the  serk  ? " 

It  was  not  till  the  middle  of  the  second  dance,  at  sunset, 
of  the  peasant  family  of  three  generations,  at  Moulins,  that, 
from  some  pauses  in  the  movement,  wherein  they  all  seemed 
to  look  up,  Sterne  fancied  he  could  distinguish  an  elevation 
of  spirit,  different  from  that  which  is  the  cause  or  the  effect 
of  simple  jollity  ; — in  a  word,  he  thought  he  beheld  Religion 
mixing  in  the  dance — but  as  he  had  never  seen  her  so 
engaged,  he  was  for  looking  upon  it  now  as  one  of  the  illu- 
sions of  a  too  perpetually  misleading  imagination,  had  not 
the  old  man,  as  soon  as  the  dance  ended,  said,  that  this  was 
their  constant  way  ;  and  that  all  his  life  long  he  had  made  it 
a  rule,  after  supper  was  over,  to  call  out  his  family  to  dance 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  DANCING.  89 

"  I  know  these  sports  have  many  oppugners,  whole 
volumes  writ  against  them ;  when  as  all  they  say 

and  rejoice  :  believing,  he  said,  that  a  cheerful  and  contented 
mind  was  the  best  sort  of  thanks  to  heaven  that  an  illiterate 
peasant  could  pay, — "  Or  a  learned  prelate  either,"  is  Parson 
Yorick's  consistent  rejoinder. — "  En  quoi,"  demands  a  French 
philosopher,  who  aspired  to  be  essentially  and  distinctively 
a  religious  one,  "en  quoi  Dieu  est-il  offense  par  un  exercice 
agre'able  et  salutaire,  convenable  a  la  vivacite'  de  la  jeunesse, 
qui  consiste  a  se  presenter  Pun  a  1' autre  avec  grace  et  bien- 
seance,  et  auquel  le  spectateur  impose  une  gravity  dont 
personne  n'oserait  sortir?"  Coleridge,  by  the  way,  in  his 
determined  onslaught  against  everything  French,  declared  of 
the  dancing  of  that  people  that  it  is  void  of  grace  and  expres- 
sion ;  that  with  all  their  vivacity  and  animal  spirits,  they 
dance  not  like  men  and  women  under  the  impression  of 
certain  emotions,  but  like  puppets,— twirling  round  like  tour- 
niquets. "  Not  to  feel,  and  not  to  think,  is  all  they  know  of 
this  art,  or  of  any  other.  You  might  swear  that  a  nation  that 
danced  in  that  manner  would  never  produce  a  true  poet  or 
philosopher.  They  have  it  not  in. them."  For  eloquent  ex- 
position of  the  philosophy  and  the  poetry  of  dancing,  com- 
mend us  to  Thomas  de  Quincey,  who  affirms,  in  one  place, 
that  of  all  the  scenes  which  this  world  offers,  none  was  to 
him  so  profoundly  interesting,  none  (he  said  it  deliberately) 
so  affecting,  as  the  spectacle  of  men  and  women  floating 
through  the  mazes  of  a  dance  ;  under  these  conditions,  how- 
ever, that  the  music  shall  be  rich,  resonant,  and  festal,  the 
execution  of  the  dancers  perfect,  and  the  dance  itself  of  a 
character  to  admit  of  free,  fluent,  and  continuous  motion 
(which  last  condition  excludes  the  quadrilles,  etc.,  which,  he 
complained,  had  for  so  many  years  banished  the  "truly 
beautiful  country -dances  native  to  England ").  By  "  con- 
tinuous "  motion,  he  explains  himself  to  mean,  not  interrupted 


90  DE  QUINCE Y  ON  DANCING. 

(if  duly  considered)  is  but  ignoratio  clcuchi.  .... 
Some  out  of  preposterous  zeal  object  many  times 

or  fitful,  but  unfolding  its  fine  mazes  with  the  equability  of 
light  in  its  diffusion  through  free  space.  And  of  such  dancing, 
to  music  not  of  a  light,  trivial  character,  but  charged  with 
the  spirit  of  festal  pleasure,  the  dancers  being  so  far  skilful 
as  to  betray  no  awkwardness  verging  on  the  ludicrous, 
Mr.  de  Ouincey  is  bold  to  affirm  his  belief,  that  many  people 
feel  with  him  in  such  circumstances,  viz.,  derive  from  the 
spectacle  "the  very  grandest  form  of  passionate  sadness 
which  can  belong  to  any  spectacle  whatever."  Sadness  may 
not  be  the  exact  word  ;  but  then  he  doubts  the  existence  of 
any  word  in  any  language  (because  none  in  the  finest 
languages)  which  exactly  expresses  the  state  ;  since  it  is  not 
a  depressing,  but  a  most  elevating  state  to  which  he  refers  ; 
many  states  of  pleasure,  and  in  particular  the  highest,  being, 
intelligibly  enough,  the  most  of  all  removed  from  merriment. 
"  Festal  music,  of  a  rich  and  passionate  character,  is  the  most 
remote  of  any  from  vulgar  hilarity.  Its  very  gladness  and 
pomp  is  impregnated  with  sadness  ;  but  sadness  of  a  grand 
and  aspiring  order."  By  various  illustrations  the  impas- 
sioned author  here  quoted  seeks  to  make  his  reader  com- 
prehend, if  he  should  not  happen  experimentally  to  have  felt, 
that  the  spectacle  of  young  men  and  women  "  flowing " 
through  the  mazes  of  an  intricate  dance  under  a  full  volume 
of  music, — the  life,  the  motion,  the  sea-like  undulation  of 
heads,  the  interweaving  of  the  figures,  the,  avamjicXwais,  or  self- 
revolving,  both  of  the  dance  and  the  music,  "  never  ending, 
still  beginning,"  and  the  continual  regeneration  of  order  from 
a  system  of  motions  which  for  ever  touch  the  very  brink  of 
confusion  ;  that  such  a  spectacle  with  such  circumstances, — 
the  circumstantial  adjuncts,  namely,  of  rich  men's  halls  for 
the  scene,  and  a  blaze  of  lights  and  jewels  to  illuminate  it — 
may  happen  to  be  capable  of  exciting  and  sustainiug  the  very 


A   MASK  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 


trivial  arguments,  and  because  of  some  abuse  will 
quite  take  away  the  good  use  ;  .  .  .  .  but  in  my 
judgment  they  are  too  stern :  there  i  is  a  time  for 
all  things,  a  time  to  mourn,  a  time   to  dance'* 


grandest  emotions  of  philosophic  melancholy  to  which  the 
human  spirit  is  open.  The  reason  assigned  is,  in  part,  that 
such  a  scene  "  presents  a  sort  of  mask  of  human  life,  with 
its  whole  equipage  of  pomps  and  glories,  its  luxury  of  sight 
and  sound,  its  hours  of  golden  youth,  and  the  interminable 
revolution  of  ages  hurrying  after  ages,  and  one  generation 
treading  upon  the  flying  footsteps  of  another," — while  the 
overruling  music  is  throughout  attempering  the  mind  to  the 
spectacle,  the  subject  to  the  object,  the  beholder  to  the 
vision.  And  although  this  is  known  to  be  but  one  phasis  of 
life — of  life  culminating  and  in  ascent — yet  the  other  (and 
repulsive)  phasis  "  is  concealed  upon  the  hidden  or  averted 
side  of  the  golden  arras,  known  but  not  felt ;  or  is  seen  but 
dimly  in  the  rear,  crowding  into  indistinct  proportions." 

The  rhetoric  of  this  master  of  prose  may  here  be  fitly  set 
off,  both  in  matter  and  manner,  with  Milton's  stately  verse 
with  angels  for  its  theme  : — 

"That  day,  as  other  solemn  days,  they  spent 
In  song  and  dance  about  the  sacred  hill ; 
Mystical  dance,  which  yonder  starry  sphere 
Of  planets,  and  of  fixed,  in  all  her  wheels 
Resembles  nearest,  mazes  intricate, 
Eccentric,  intervolved,  yet  regular, 
Then  most  when  most  irregular  they  seem, 
And  in  their  motions  harmony  divine 
So  smooths  her  charming  tones,  that  God's  own  ear 
Listens  delighted." 

*  Describing  the  rustic  dance  at  a  harvest-home,  in  his 
prose  idyl  of  Clouds  and  Sunshine,  Mr.  Charles  Reade 
iterates  the  apostrophic  refrain,  "Dance,  sons  and  daughters 


92  DANCING  BY  INSTINCT. 

(Eccles.  iii.  4)."  The  Royal  Preacher,  on  the  text 
that  all  is  vanity,  is  thus  made  by  Prior  to  record 
his  experience,  or  experiments,  in  this  direction : — 

of  toil.  None  had  ever  a  better  right  to  dance  than  you  have 
this  sunny  afternoon  in  clear  September.  .  .  .  Harvest-tide 
comes  but  once  a  year.  Dance,  sons  and  daughters  of  toil, 
exult  over  your  work,  smile  with  the  smiling  year,  and  in  this 
bright  hour,  oh,  cease  my  poor  souls  to  envy  the  rich  and 
great  !  Believe  me,  they  are  never,  at  any  hour  of  their  lives, 
so  cheery  as  you  are  now.  How  can  they  be  ?  With  them 
dancing  is  tame  work,  an  every-day  business — no  rarity,  no 
treat — don't  envy  them — God  is  just,  and  deals  the  sources  of 
content  with  a  more  equal  hand  than  appears  on  the  surface 
of  things."  Dance,  too,  without  fear,  he  bids  them  ;  let  no 
forbidding  censor  make  them  believe  it  wrong  :  "  Things  are 
wrong  out  of  season,  and  right  in  season  ;  to  dance  in  harvest 
is  as  becoming  as  to  be  grave  in  church.  The  Almighty  has 
put  it  into  the  hearts  of  insects  to  dance  in  the  afternoon  sun, 
and  of  men  and  women  in  every  age  and  every  land  to  dance 
round  the  gathered  crop,  whether  it  be  corn,  or  oil,  or  wine, 
or  any  other  familiar  miracle  that  springs  up  sixty-fold,  and 
nurtures  and  multiplies  the  life  of  man."  In  another  of  his 
books  Mr.  Reade  describes  a  dance  got  up  among  the 
starving  children  of  a  penniless  penman,  by  a  visitor  radiant 
with  beneficence,  who  has  first  fed  them  well,  and  now  stirs 
them  all  up  to  foot  it  blithely,  herself  showing  them  how,  till 
the  careworn  parents  themselves  catch  the  excitement,  and 
join  in.  "There  was  no  swimming,  sprawling,  or  irrelevant 
frisking  ;  their  feet  struck  the  ground  for  every  note  of  the 
fiddle,  pint  as  its  echo  ;  their  faces  shone,  their  hearts  leaped, 
and  their  poor  frozen  natures  came  out,  and  warmed  them- 
selves at  the  glowing  melody :  a  great  sunbeam  had  come 
into  their  abode,  and  these  human  motes  danced  in  it."  In 
yet  another  the  same  master  of  his  art  expounds  the  prin- 


^ESTHETICS  OF  DANCING.  93 

"  I  bade  the  virgins  and  the  youth  advance, 
To  temper  music  with  the  sprightly  dance. 
In  vain  !  too  low  the  mimic-motions  seem  ; 
What  takes  our  heart  must  merit  our  esteem. 

ciple  of  Scotch  reel-dancing,  which  is  articulation, — the  foot 
striking  the  ground  for  every  accented  note,  and,  in  the  best 
steps  of  all,  for  every  single  note  of  the  instrument.  "All 
good  dancing,"  he  continues,  "is  beautiful."  But  this 
articulate  dancing,  compared  with  the  loose,  lawless  difflu- 
ence  of  motion  that  goes  by  that  name,  gives  him,  he  con- 
fesses, as  much  more  pleasure  as  articulate  singing  is  supe- 
rior to  tunes  played  on  the  voice  by  a  young  lady.  What 
says  Goldsmith  of  the  two  styles  ?  "  They  swam,  sprawled, 
frisked,  and  languished  ;  but  Olivia's  foot  was  as  pat  to  the 
music  as  its  echo  "  Mr.  Arthur  Helps  somewhere  declares, 
as  for  dancing,  that  it  is  to  him  the  most  beautiful  thing  in 
the  world  when  it  is  supremely  well  done — while  no  one  can  de- 
nounce more  impatiently  than  he  does  the  "  loathsome  "  ugli- 
ness as  well  as  indecency  of  ballet  performances,  with  their 
"  laboured  intrepidity  of  indecorum."  Rapturously  Lardune 
expatiates,  in  one  of  Roscoe's  tragedies,  on  knightly  Breton 

dancers  that 

"  make  the  air 
Heavy  in  pace  behind  them,  and  still  tread 
With  such  a  delicate  feeling  of  the  time, 
As  if  the  music  dwelt  in  their  own  frames, 
And  shook  the  motion  from  them." 

So  Wordsworth's  son-in-law  and  brother  bard,  "To  Mary 
dancing": — 

"  Diana's  queenlike  step  is  thine  ; 
And  when  in  dance  thy  feet  combine, 

They  fall  with  truth  so  sweet, 
The  music  seems  to  come  from  thee, 
And  all  the  notes  appear  to  be 

'  The  echoes  of  thy  feet.'  " 

As  was  said  of  Madame,  Duchesse  d'Orleans,  "  son  ame,  sou 


94  DYNAMICS  OF  DANCING. 

Nature,  I  thought,  performed  too  mean  a  part, 
Forming  her  movements  to  the  rules  of  art ; 
And  vexed  I  found,  that  the  musician's  hand 
Had  o'er  the  dancer's  mind  too  great  command." 


esprit  animait  tout  son  corps  :  elle  en  avait  jusqu'aux  pieds 
et  dansait  mieux  que  femme  du  monde." 

' '  And  every  limb  with  all  the  notes 
In  that  accordant  beauty  floats  .... 
The  very  soul  of  dance." 

Hazlitt  says,  in  one  of  his  letters  from  Paris,  that  of  all 
things  he  saw  there,  it  surprised  him  the  most  that  the 
French  should  fancy  they  can  dance.  To  dance,  is  to  move 
with  grace  and  harmony  to  music.  "  But  the  French, 
whether  men  or  women,  have  no  idea  of  dancing  but  that  of 
moving  with  agility,  and  of  distorting  their  limbs  in  every 
possible  way,  till  they  really  alter  the  structure  of  the  human 
form."  The  philosopher  of  the  Haythornc  Papers  records  his 
watching  a  professional  dancer,  whose  tours  de  fo7-ce  he 
inwardly  condemned  as  barbarisms  which  would  be  hissed, 
were  not  people  such  cowards  as  to  applaud  what  they  think 
it's  the  fashion  to  applaud ;  and  he  remarked  that  the  truly 
graceful  motions  occasionally  introduced  were  those  per- 
formed with  comparatively  little  effort.  He  accordingly  main- 
tains that  whatever  is  most  gracefully  achieved,  is  achieved 
with  the  least  expenditure  of  force ;  that  grace,  as  applied  to 
motion,  is  effected  with  an  economy  of  muscular  power.  The 
theory  of  dancing,  as  propounded  by  Emerson,  is,  to  recover 
continually  in  changes  the  lost  equilibrium,  not  by  abrupt  and 
angular,  but  by  gradual  and  curving  movements.  In  Leigh 
Hunt's  phrase, 

"  Weaving  motion  with  blithe  repose." 
Byron  will   have  it   that  all  foreigners   excel  the   serious 


CASUISTRY  OF  DANCING.  95 

For  here  too  the  sensuous  monarch  "  found  the 
fickle  ear  soon  glutted  with  the  sound ;  Con- 
demned eternal  changes  to  pursue,  Tired  with  the 
last,  and  eager  of  the  new."  To  King  Solomon, 
in  his  recognized  capacity  of  the  Preacher,  Eccle- 
siastes,  does  Owen  Feltham  appeal,  in  support  of 
his  argument  that  if  dancing  were  unlawful,  God 
would  not  allow  of  being  served  by  it,  as  in  the 
Jewish  ritual  He  did;  "nor  would  Solomon  have 
told  us  that  '  there  is  a  time  to  dance.' "  Charlotte 
Bronte's  casuistry  was  consulted  once,  whether 
dancing  is  objectionable,  when  indulged  in  for  an 
hour  or  two  in  parties  of  boys  and  girls.  Her  judg- 
ment was,  that  "  the  sin  of  dancing  "  consists  not 
in  the  mere  action  of  "shaking  the  shanks"  (as  the 
Scotch  say),  but  in  the  consequences  that  usually 
attend  it ;  namely,  frivolity  and  waste  of  time  ;  that 
when  used  only,  as  in  the  case  suggested,  for 
the  exercise  and  amusement  of  an  hour  among 
young  people,  "who  surely  may  without  any  breach 
of  God's  commandments  be  allowed  a  little  light- 
headedness,"  these    consequences    cannot   follow. 

Angles  in  the  eloquence  of  pantomime ;  and  he  makes  his 
model  male  dancer  dance  right  well, 

"  With  emphasis,  and  also  with  good  sense — 
A  thing  in  footing  indispensable  : 
He  danced  without  theatrical  pretence, 
Not  like  a  ballet-master  in  the  van 
Of  his  drill'd  nymphs,  but  like  a  gentleman." 


96  APOLOGISTS  FOR  DANCING. 

"  Ergo  (according  to  my  manner  of  arguing),  the 
amusement  is  at  such  times  perfectly  innocent" 
As  Feltham  states  the  question,  it  is  not  the  thing 
that  is  to  be  condemned,  but  the  manner  and  cor- 
rupt abuse  of  it.  He,  the  grave  moralist  of  the 
Resolves,  affirms  that,  beyond  a  doubt,  it  was  "  out 
of  the  jollity  of  nature  that  this  art  was  first  in- 
vented and  taken  up,  among  men.  Bate  but  the 
fiddle,  and  the  colts,  the  calves,  and  lambs  of  the 
field  do  the  same."  An  old  poet  of  a  previous 
generation,  Sir  John  Davies,  had  written  a  poem 
on  Dancing,  called  Orchestra,  from  which  Feltham 
might  have  quoted  a  sequence  of  stanzas  ;  for  Sir 
John  has  his  undulatory  theory,  as  regards  the 
dancing  of  the  air  itself;  "for  what  are  breath, 
speech,  echoes,  music,  winds,  but  dancings  of  the 
air*  in  sundry  kinds  ? "  Of  the  winds,  for  instance, 
he  saysf  that  they  keep  their  revelry,  their  "  vio- 


*  Swift  makes  merry  over  Isaac  BickerstafFs  definition  of 
dancing  as  an  "  epitome  of  all  human  learning," — and  over 
his  alleged  tenet,  proved  by  arguments  physical,  musical,  and 
mathematical,  that  dancing  is  not  only  the  primum  mobile 
of  all  arts  and  sciences,  but  that  the  motion  of  the  sun,  moon, 
and  other  celestial  bodies,  is  but  a  sort  of  Cheshire  Round, 
which  they  dance  to  the  music  of  the  spheres. 

+  Writing  when  he  did,  Sir  John  was  sure  of  a  readier 
sympathy  with  what  he  did  write,  however  fanciful,  upon  such 
a  topic  ;  for  in  that  age,  as  Mr.  Herman  Merivale  observes, 
not  only  the  spirit  of  the  art,  but  its  high  importance  and 


HISTORICALLY  REVIEWED.  97 

lent  turnings  and  wild  whirling  hays,"  in  the  air's 
translucent  gallery,  "  where  she  herself  is  turned 

dignity  were  as  yet  unabated.  We  are  misled,  says  he,  by 
our  modern  notions,  when  we  marvel  at  Sir  Christopher 
Hatton,  the  dancing  Chancellor ;  or  at  Elizabeth,  for  being 
smitten  with  his  attractive  movements.  In  France,  he 
reminds  us,  all  the  world  danced,  from  the  king  to  the 
Savoyard  with  his  monkey.  Not  only  Richelieu  dances  a 
new  saraband  in  the  queen's  boudoir,  with  castanets  in  hand, 
— though  to  be  sure  he  gets  provokingly  derided  for  the  feat ; 
but  even  the  great  and  grave  Sully  indulges  in  similar  exhi- 
bitions. Nay,  the  great  Jansenist  Abbe  Arnauld  recounts, 
albeit  with  some  embarrassment,  how  he  was  forced  to  dance 
at  the  court  of  Modena.  Dances  of  the  saraband  and  galop 
kind  were  performed  in  church  in  the  middle  ages,  and  wild 
work  they  made  of  them.  At  Limoges,  on  St.  Martial's  day, 
the  people  danced  in  church  to  the  tunes  of  the  canticles, 
and  at  the  end  of  each  chant  repeated  this  refrain,  by  way  of 
doxology  : 

"  Saint  Martial,  priez  pour  nous, 
Et  nous,  nous  danserons  pour  vous." 

There  is  no  art  so  fallen  from  its  high  estate  as  that  of 
dancing,  affirms  a  reviewer  of  its  history — and  formal  histo- 
rians it  has  had,  the  French  Bonnet,  for  instance  (Histoire 
de  la  danse),  and  more  recently  the  German  Czerwinski 
(Geschichte  dcr  Tanzkunst) — the  latter  of  whom  details  with 
"all  the  ardour  which  belongs  to  the  stanch  votary  of  a 
decaying  cause,"  the  former  glories  of  his  now  neglected 
study — an  art  which  "  boasts  of  an  ancient  pedigree  and  many 
renowned  professors."  ^Eschylus,  Sophocles,  Epaminondas, 
a  classical  authority  reminds  us,  were  distinguished  dancers 
in  their  day  ;  while  Socrates  and  Plato  not  only  danced 
themselves,  but  applied  very  unpolite  language  to  those  who 
were  too  ignorant  to  follow  their  example.      "  The  instances 

7 


98  bANCING  IN  DIVINE  SERVICE. 

a  hundred   ways"  while  playing  with  these   mer- 
curial maskers — 

"  Yet  in  this  misrule  they  such  rule  embrace, 
As  two  at  once  encumber  not  the  place" — 


of  David  and  the  daughter  of  Herodias  show  the  influence 
the  art  had  among  the  Jews."  And  it  is  shown  to  have  not 
lost  its  favour  with  the  early  Christians,  among  whom  so  much 
of  Jewish  thought  and  feeling  survived  :  Gregory  Thauma- 
turgus  introduced  it  into  divine  service,  and  St.  Basil  strongly 
recommended  the  art  to  his  hearers,  telling  them  that  it  would 
be  their  principal  occupation  in  heaven,  and  therefore  they  had 
better  practise  it  betimes  on  earth.  Scaliger  is  cited  as  even 
deducing  from  the  custom  of  employing  it  in  divine  service 
the  name  of  prcesules,  which  was  given  to  the  bishops — 
deriving  it  a  prcesiliendo,  from  the  fact  of  their  "  skipping 
first,"  or  being  foremost  in  the  dance  at  the  head  of  their 
clergy.  But  if  the  Hattons  and  Sullys  and  Richlieus  could 
revisit  the  earth,  how  little,  exclaims  one  historian  of  the 
art,  would  they  recognize  as  dancing  the  ungainly  shuffle 
which  is  the  lineal  representative  of  their  stately  gambadoes  ! 
"  We  may  safely  assume  that  St.  John  the  Baptist  would  have 
lived  to  a  respected  old  age,  if  Herodias's  daughter  had 
had  nothing  more  graceful  wherewith  to  entertain  her 
stepfather's  guests  ;  and  that  St.  Basil  would  never  have 
deterred  his  congregation  from  the  path  of  virtue  by  holding 
up  to  them  an  eternity  of  such  an  exercise  as  their  reward. 
In  fact,  if  Dante  had  lived  to  enjoy  our  experiences  of  new 
varieties  of  human  misery,  doing  teetotum  for  ever  in  a  hot 
room  would  have  furnished  a  suitable  circle  in  the  Inferno 
for  fashionable  sinners."  Besides,  our  dances  now  represent 
nothing,  their  modern  censor  complains  ;  whereas  those  of 
the  ancient  world  generally  embodied  a  thought — not  merely 
a  desire  to  kick,  or  a  promiscuous  shuffle. 


ANALOGIES  AND   APOLOGETICS.  99 

a  passage  that  may  remind  us  of  what  the  masterly 
translator  and  annotator  of  Lessing's  Laokoon  ob- 
serves, in  one  of  his  foot-notes, — that  the  beauty 
of  dancing,  as  to  one  part  of  it,  lies  in  the  conflict 
between  the  freedom  of  the  motion  and  the  law 
of  equilibrium,  which  is  constantly  threatened  by 
it ;  sometimes  also  "  in  the  intricacy  of  the  figure, 
which  is  constantly  tending  to  swerve  from  a  law 
which  it  constantly  obeys  ; "  and  sometimes  in  the 
"  mutual  reference  of  two  corresponding  dancers  or 
a  centripetal  reference  of  the  whole,  where  the 
launch,  as  it  were,  of  the  motion  and  passion  of 
the  music,  seems  likely  to  impress  a  centrifugal 
tendency."  The  dancing  of  the  waves  to  the  in- 
fluence of  the  moon  is  another  of  the  examples 
drawn  by  Sir  John  Davies  de  rerum  naturd.  Be 
some  of  his  fancies  too  fanciful  or  not,  for  the 
argument  of  Owen  Feltham,  that  argument  is  that 
the  thing  dancing,  in  itself,  seems  to  be  natural 
and  innocent,  "begotten  and  born  at  first  out  of 
the  sprightly  and  harmless  activity  and  rarification 
of  the  blood  and  spirits ; "  whence  the  less  he 
wonders  that  some  of  the  ancient  Grecians  should 
so  much  extol  it,  as  even  to  deduce  it  from  Heaven 
itself,  as  being  practised  there  by  the  stars,  "the  con- 
junctions and  oppositions,  the  aspects  and  revolu- 
tions, the  ingresses  and  the  egresses,  and  the  like  ; 
making  such  a  harmony  and  concert,  as  to  seem  to 


ioo        FELTHAMS  PLEA   FOR  DANCING. 


be  a  well-ordered  dance  amongst  them."  If  dancing 
were  absolutely  ill  in  itself,  or  if  the  ill  which  some- 
times accompanies  it  were  inseparable  from  it,  "  it 
were  better  all  were  gone,"  Feltham  concludes, 
"than  for  the  greatest  pleasure,  to  keep  the  least 
of  mischief."  But  if  it  be  for  a  harmless  exercise, 
for  a  recreation  merely,  or  to  express  inoffensively 
a  justifiable  joy,  he  sees  not  why  it  should  be  con- 
demned. He  cannot  bring  himself  to  think  that 
"  there  cannot  be  dancing  without  danger  to 
morals."  Granted  that  some  of  the  fathers  have 
highly  declaimed  against  this  recreation  ;  "  yet,  I 
take  it  to  be,  as  it  was  rudely  and  lasciviously  used 
by  the  vulgar,  and  the  pagans  of  those  times.  But 
surely,  at  orderly  entertainments  among  great  per- 
sons, and  meetings  of  love  and  friendship  among 
persons  of  condition,  there  is  nothing  more  modest, 
more  decent,  or  more  civil."  In  fine,  he  takes 
dancing  to  be  like  usury, — something  difficult  to 
be  kept  in  the  mean,  easy  to  be  let  into  excess, 
and  by  almost  all  nations  at  once  decried  and 
practised. 

The  word  prelate,  or  even  the  word  pope,  could 
hardly  have  produced  so  appalling  an  effect  upon 
the  ear  of  David  Deans,  his  author  tells  us,  as  did 
the  word  dancing,  which  he  overhears*  from   the 

*  What  would  he,  or  the  like  of  him,  have   said  to  the 


BUNYAN'S  PILGRIMS  FOOTING  IT  WELL,  ior 

lips  of  Jeanie  and  Effie ;  for,  of  all  exercises,  that 
of  dancing,  which  he  termed  a  voluntary  and  regular 
fit  of  distraction,  he  deemed  most  destructive  of 
serious  thoughts,  and  the  readiest  inlet  to  all  sorts 
of  licentiousness.  "Dance!"  he  exclaims.  "Dance? 
— dance,  said  ye  ?  I  daur  ye,  limmers  that  ye  are, 
to  name  sic  a  word  at  my  door-cheek  !  It's  a  dis- 
solute, profane  pastime,  practised  by  the  Israelites 


introduction  of  the  word,  and  the  thing,  without  a  hint  of  dis- 
approval on  the  Divine  speaker's  part,  in  the  parable  of  the 
Prodigal  Son  ? 

Good  and  thoroughbred  Puritan  as  John  Bunyan  was, 
there  was  nothing  of  this  stringent  straitlacedness  about  him. 
When  the  pilgrims  in  their  progress  are  shown  the  head 
of  Giant  Despair,  they  have  music  and  dancing  for  joy. 
Christian  plays  upon  the  viol,  and  Mercy  upon  the  lute,  and 
Mr.  Ready-to-halt  takes  Despondency's  daughter,  Much- 
afraid,  by  the  hand,  and  to  dancing  they  go  along  the  road. 
"  True,  he  could  not  dance  without  one  crutch  in  his  hand, 
but  I  promise  you,  he  footed  it  well :  also  the  girl  was  to  be 
commended,  for  she  answered  the  music  handsomely." 

To  be  commended? — One  of  our  religious  journals  not 
long  ago  asserted  it  to  be  a  "  well-known  fact  that  praying 
dancers  have  never  yet  made  their  appearance  in  the  world. 
The  species  is  altogether  unknown.  An  earnest,  humble, 
spiritual-minded  dancing  Christian  is  a  phenomenon  not  yet 
brought  to  light."  Mr.  Dallas  refers  to  a  catena  of  divines 
opposed  to  dancing,  from  St.  Ambrose  to  the  Rev.  John 
Northbrooke,  who  have  yet  had  much  to  say  in  favour  of 
what  they  call  spiritual  dancing,  such  as  that  of  King  David. 
—  But  the  vexed  question  must  not  be  further  vexed  in  this 
place,  or  by  this  pen. 


SCRIPTURE    WARNING 


only  at  their  base  and  brutal  worship  of  the  Golden 
Calf  at  Bethel,  and  by  the  unhappy  lass  wha 
danced  aff  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist."  Nothing 
doubts  he  of  her  having  had  cause  to  rue  the  day 
that  "  e'er  she  suld  hae  shook  a  limb  on  sic  an 
errand."  And  better  for  her,  he  pronounces  it,  to 
have  been  born  a  cripple,  and  carried  "  frae  door  to 
door,  like  auld  Bessie  Bowie,  begging  bawbees, 
than  to  be  a  king's  daughter,  fiddling  and  flinging 
the  gate  she  did."  And  David  Deans  blesses  God 
(with  that  singular  worthy,  Peter  Walker  the  pack- 
man at  Bristo-Port,)  that  ordered  his  lot  in  his 
dancing  days,  so  that  fear  of  his  throat,  dread  of 
bloody  rope  and  swift  bullet,  stopped  the  light- 
ness of  his  head,  and  the  wantonness  of  his  feet 
— Dr.  Currie  speaks  of  the  prevalence  of  a  taste,  or 
rather  passion  for  dancing,  among  a  people  so 
deeply  tinctured  with  the  spirit  and  doctrines  of 
Calvin,  as  one  of  those  contradictions  which  the 
philosophic  observer  so  often  finds  in  national  cha- 
racter and  manners;  and  this  one  he  thinks  is  to  be 
ascribed  to  the  Scottish  music,  which,  in  its  livelier 
strains,  "  awakes  those  vivid  emotions  that  find  in 
dancing  their  natural  solace  and  relief."  He  com- 
ments on  the  toleration  rather  than  approval,  on 
the  part  of  the  more  elderly  and  serious  part  of 
the  people,  of  "  those  meetings  of  the  young  where 
dancing  is  practised  to  their  spirit-stirring  music, 


AIStD  SCRIPTURE    WARRANT.  .  103 

where  care  is  dispelled,  toil  is  forgotten,"  etc. 
Quite  recently,  Dr.  Boyd  has  protested  against 
parents  not  allowing  their  children  to  be  taught 
dancing,  "  regarding  dancing  as  sinful  " — the  result 
being  that  the  children  are  awkward,  and  not  like 
other  children.  Sir  Ralph  Esher  complains  in  his 
autobiography  that  he  had  never  learned  to  dance, 
in  a  home  where  it  was  looked  upon  as  a  thing 
heavenly  to  abolish  "  every  innocent  recreation." 
The  most  innocent  people  dance,  he  muses  ;  shep- 
herds and  country  lasses.  "  The  Jews  danced. 
Miriam  danced  and  played  on  the  timbrel,  and 
so  did  the  royal  psalmist.  I  have  heard  him 
quoted  a  thousand  times  in  defence  of  a  good 
slaughter ;  why  not  in  behalf  of  a  saraband  ? " 
Mr.  Erskine  Clarke's  plea  for  dancing,  as  one  of 
the  most  universal  instincts  of  human  nature,  won 
sympathy,  at  a  Church  Congress,  not  long  ago,  from 
those  who  yet  saw  the  practice,  in  the  form  most 
easily  attainable  by  the  working  classes,  to  be  open 
to  the  gravest  possible  objection,  though  attempts 
have  been  made  in  several  cases  to  surround  it 
with  some  of  the  safeguards  which  attend  it  in  the 
higher  orders.  "The  difficulty  of  the  experiment 
seems  to  have  been  chiefly  owing  to  the  careless- 
ness of  parents  " — there  being  usually  among  the 
poor  no  middle  course  between  forbidding  all 
amusement  to  the  younger  members  of  the  family, 


104  DAXC1XG  FOR  JOY.      * 

and  allowing  them  to  do  what  they  like  in  this  way, 
without  check  or  supervision. 

In  joy  and  thanksgiving,  said  the  pious  and  or- 
thodox Jones  of  Xayland,  the  tongue  is  not  content 
with  speaking  ;  it  must  evoke  and  utter  a  song, 
"  while  the  feet  are  also  disposed  to  dance  to  the 
measures  of  music,  as  was  the  custom  in  sacred 
celebrations  of  old  among  the  people  of  God,  before 
the  world  and  its  vanities  had  engrossed  to  them- 
selves all  the  expressions  of  mirth  and  festivity. 
They  have  now  left  nothing  of  that  kind  to  religion, 
which  must  now  sit  by  in  gloomy  solemnity,  and 
see  the  World  with  the  Flesh  and  the  Devil  assume 
to  themselves  the  sole  power  of  distributing  social 
happiness."  * 


Reverting  from  the  dance  into  which  King  David 


*  That  very  lovable  and  withal  devout  pastor,  Mr.  Che- 
riton,  in  the  story  of  The  Gordian  Knot,  is  condemned  by 
some  of  his  more  rigid  brethren  for  permitting  his  children  to 
learn  music  and  dancing  ;  but  he  smiles  at  some  of  his  more 
rigid  brethren,  and  the  lessons  go  on.  To  his  wife,  however, 
he  says,  "  I  look  to  you,  Nelly,  to  make  Allan  understand  that 
a  deep  love  even  of  Mendelssohn  does  not  comprise  all  the 
virtues.  And  though  you  need  not  set  the  case  of  Herodias 
before  Bertha  and  Maggie,  as  poor,  shallow,  good  old  Rigby 
did  before  me  the  other  day.  as  an  argument  for  stopping  the 
poor  children's  dance,  I  know  that  you,  love,  will  make  them 
see  why  a  carpet  quadrille  to-night  does  not  mean  an  assembly 
room  ball  to-morrow." — Chapter  iiL 


ROYAL  MUSICIANS.  105 

has  led  us,  to  the  music  which  was  also  his  kingly 
accomplishment,  we  may  take  note  of  the  exist- 
ence of  an  order  of  what  may  be  called  musical 
monarchs,  of  whom — apart  however  from  the  dis- 
tinctive characteristic  of  religious  feeling  in  him — 
the  sweet  singer  and  harpist  of  Israel  may  be  ac- 
cepted as  the  type. 

It  is  remarked  by  Scott,  in  one  of  his  critical 
treatises,  that  in  a  very  early  period  of  civiliza- 
tion, ere  the  division  of  ranks  had  been  generally 
adopted,  the  poetical  art,  with  its  adjunct,  music,  is 
found  to  assure  to  its  professors  a  very  high  rank ; 
and  that  when  separated  into  a  distinct  class  (as 
with  the  Celtic  Bards,  and  perhaps  the  Skalds  of 
Scandinavia,)  they  rank  high  in  the  scale  of  society, 
insomuch  that  we  find  kings  not  only  listening  to 
them  with  admiration,  but  emulous  of  their  art,  and 
desirous  of  being  enrolled  among  their  numbers. 
Several  of  the  most  renowned  northern  kings,  and 
very  many  of  the  Welsh  princes  and  Irish  kings, 
were  musical  practitioners.  But  in  process  of  time, 
as  society  graduates,  the  professor  of  music  "be- 
comes the  companion  and  soother  only  of  idle  and 
convivial  hours  ;"  and  his  presence  would  be  un- 
becoming on  occasions  of  gravity  and  importance, 
for  his  art  is  now  come  to  be  "  accounted  at  best 
an  amusing  but  useless  luxury."  At  this  stage,  for 
royalty  to  harp  or  lutanize  is  scouted  severely  as 


106  MUSICAL  MONARCHS. 

infra  dig.  "Are  you  not  ashamed  to  sing  so  well  ?" 
was  Philip's  upbraiding  question  to  his  son,  when 
at  a  certain  entertainment  he  charmed  the  company 
by  his  vocal  execution.  Plutarch's  comment  on  the 
incident  is,  that  it  suffices  for  a  prince  to  bestow  a 
vacant  hour  upon  hearing  the  musical  performance 
of  others  ;  and  that  he  does  the  muses  quite  honour 
enough  if  he  patronizes  with  his  presence  the 
exhibition  of  trained  musical  skill.  As  for  that 
degenerate  Spartan  king,  Cleomenes,  "beating  a 
drum  with  his  royal  hands  about  the  palace," — to 
Plutarch  hardly  could  Parolles  and  his  drum  be  an 
object  of  more  supreme  contempt.  Even  so  Gul- 
liver, at  Glubbdubdrib,  when  he  craves  a  glimpse 
of  "a  dozen  or  two  of  kings,"  professes  to  have 
been,  in  the  event,  unexpectedly  and  grievously  dis- 
appointed ;  for  there  were  "fiddlers"  among  them, 
and — in  short,  "  I  have  too  great  a  veneration  for 
crowned  heads  to  dwell  any  longer  on  so  nice  a 
subject."  A  sceptre  is  one  thing,  a  fiddlestick 
another,  says  the  Latin  proverb  :  Alia  res  spectrum, 
alia  plectrum.  When  Young  would  show  how  low 
Imperialism  may  sink,  to  what  depths  of  degrada- 
tion Caesarism  may  descend,  he  pictures 

"A  Nero  quitting  his  imperial  throne, 
And  courting  glory  from  the  tinkling  string."  * 

*  The  Caxtonian  Essayist  bestows  a  passing  note  of  admi- 
ration upon  the  eighteen  hundred  laurel  crowns  awarded  by 


NERO'S  SUSCEPTIBILITY  TO  MUSIC.     107 

And  yet  the  "good  king  Thibault "  of  Dante  won 
in  part  his  good   name  and  fame  by  his  skill  in 

Athens  to  Nero  as  a  musician.  And  it  is  suggested  of  that 
misplaced  Caesar  that  if  his  career  had  been  a  musician's,  and 
not  an  emperor's,  he  might  indeed  have  been  a  voluptuary 
(a  musician  not  unfrequently  is) — but  a  soft-tempered,  vain, 
praise-seeking  infant  of  art,  studying  harmony,  and  nervously 
shocked  by  discord, — as  musicians  generally  are. 

Nero's  exclamation  in  the  anguish  of  contemplating  his 
own  death,  "  What  an  artist  {artifex)  is  in  me  about  to 
perish  !"  has  been  taken  to  explain  the  enigma  of  his  nature. 
Qualis  artifex  pereo  /  Now  by  artifex  Lord  Lytton  under- 
stands something  more  than  musician,  as  our  current  trans- 
lations render  the  word,  and  even  something  more  than  artist, 
as  translated  above.  "Artifex means  an  artificer,  a  contriver ; 
and  I  suspect  that,  in  using  the  word,  Nero  was  thinking  of 
the  hydraulic  musical  contrivance  which  had  occupied  his 
mind  amidst  all  the  terrors  of  the  conspiracy  which  destroyed 
him — a  contrivance  that  really  seems  to  have  been  a  very 
ingenious  application  of  science  to  art,  which  we  might  not 
have  lost  if  Nero  had  been  only  an  artificer,  and  not  an 
emperor." — Essay  on  the  Sympathetic  Temperament. 

Harshness  of  conduct  is  said  with  truth  to  be  no  contra- 
diction of  extreme  susceptibility  to  sentiment  in  writing — in 
fact,  argues  the  author  of  The  Student,  the  one  may  be  rather 
a  consequence  than  a  contradiction  of  the  other.  Nor  is  the 
contrast  between  softness  in  emotion  and  callousness  in 
conduct  peculiar  to  poets.  That  sternest  of  tyrants,  Alex- 
ander of  Pherse,  shed  a  torrent  of  tears  upon  the  acting  of  a 
play ;  (yet  what  was  'Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba,  that 
Alexander,  king  of  Pherae,  any  more  than  Hamlet,  prince  of 
Denmark,  should  weep  for  her  ?)  and  "  Nero  was  woman- 
ishly affected  by  the  harp." 
We      read  of  Gerald  Durant,  in  Archie  Lovell,  with  all  his 


108  ROYAL  HARPERS. 

music  as  well  as  verse-making  ;  for  the  verses  he 
composed  he  used  to  sing  in  public  to  the  viol,  and 
by  all  accounts  very  well  he  sang  too.  Dr.  Burney's 
History  of  Music  gives  what  are  believed  to  have 
been  the  original  melodies  of  two  of  the  songs. 
The  middle  ages  offer  us  here  and  there  what 
Sainte-Beuve  calls  des  henreuses  surprises,  from 
Alfred  finding  a  way  with  his  harp  into  the  camp 
of  the  Danes,  to  Richard  Cceur-de-Lion  with  trou- 
vere's  harp  at  his  prison  window.  a  Le  siecle  de 
Saint  Louis  applaudissait  aux  chansons  de  Thibaut, 
roi  de  Navarre."  And  so  long  as  poetry  was  a 
song,  so  long  as  harp  and  lyre  were  not  mere  meta- 
phors, there  was  grace  of  a  certain  kind  in  the  fact 
of  its  being  cultivated  in  the  highest  rank  of  all.* 


loose  ways  and  means,  that  a  little  French  song  could  send 
the  tears  into  his  eyes  ;  and  the  query  is  ironically  proposed, 
a  son  addresse,  Are  such  natures  to  be  called  wicked  or  weak, 
or  only  philosophical  ?  "While  Rome  burnt,  Nero  distracted 
his  thoughts  with  his  violin.  Perhaps  when  his  turn  for  re- 
habilitation comes,  we  shall  be  taught  to  see  how  blithe  and 
gentle  and  debomiaire  poor  Nero  really  was,  and  make  a  hero 
of  him." — Chapter  vi. 

*  "  Mais  du  moment  que  les  vers,  ramene's  a  Pe'tat  de  simple 
composition  litteraire,  devinrent  un  art  plus  pre'eis,  du  moment 
que  les  rimes  durent  se  coucher  par  ecriture,  et  quil  fallut, 
bon  gre  mal  gre,  et  nonobstant  toutes  metaphores,  noircir  du 
papier,  comme  on  dit,  pour  arriver  a  l'indispensable  correction 
et  a  1  elegance,  des  lors  il  fut  a  peu  pres  impossible  d'etre  a 


RENE   THE   TROUBADOUR.  109 

The  son  of  Hugh  Capet,  Robert  the  Wise,  con- 
sulted at  once  his  pronounced  taste  for  music, 
and  his  devotional  temperament,  when,  as  was  fre- 
quently the  case,  he  led  the  choir  of  St.  Denis. 
He  also  composed  hymns  for  monastic  use.  The 
Portuguese  chronicle,  cited  by  Michelet,  teaches 
us  that  Don  Pedro,  after  the  death  of  Inez,  was 
possessed  by  a  strange  craving  for  music.  But  he 
required  it  to  be  stunning,  violent,  made  up  of  wind 
instruments,  and  there  were  specially  made  for  him 
silver  trumpets  of  inordinate  length.  The  eldest 
of  Charles  the  Sixth's  sons,  the  first  dauphin,  was 
an  indefatigable  player  on  the  harp  and  spinet. 
Special  mention,  among  musical  monarchs,  is  due 
to  him  Schiller  introduces  as 

"  Old  king  Rend, 
Of  tuneful  song  the  master,  most  renown'd," 

and  whose  daughter,  Margaret  of  Anjou,  in  one  of 
Scott's  historical  novels,  expresses  herself  weary 
to  disgust  of  the  eternal  tinkling  of  harps,  and 
squeaking  of  rebecks,  and  snapping  of  castanets,  at 
his  little  court.*     James  the   First,  of  Scotland, 

la  fois  roi  et  poete  avec  biense'ance." — Demiers  Portraits 
Litteraires :  Francois  Ier  Poete. 

*  The  troubadour's  crown  of  flowers  was  accounted  by  Rend 
a  valuable  compensation  for  the  diadems  of  Jerusalem,  of 
Naples,  and  of  both  Sicilies,  of  which  he  now  possessed  the 


no  SHALLOW  CONTEMPT  FOR 

sang  beautifully,  Tytlcr  says,  and  not  only  accom- 
panied himself  upon  the  harp  and  the  organ,  but 

empty  titles  only.  A  concert  of  fiddlers,  and  a  troop  of 
morricc-dancers,  seemed  now  his  sole  earthly  wants.  Freed 
by  diplomatic  interest  from  personal  and  pecuniary  vexations, 
Rene  was  enabled  to  go  piping  and  tabouring  to  his  grave. 

Scott  makes  the  hot  Duke  of  Burgundy  exclaim  on  one 
occasion,  impatiently  capping  and  at  the  same  time  dismissing 
a  proposition  of  the  Earl  of  Oxford's, — "And  King  Renews 
five  hundred  fiddlers  to  tune  their  cracked  violins  in  my 
praise?  and  King  Rene'  himself  to  listen  to  them,  and  say, 
'Well  fought,  Duke— well  played,  fiddler  !'"  The  scorn  for 
fiddling  was  highly  pronounced  in  those  days,  and  for  many 
a  long  day  afterwards.  During  the  reign  of  James  III., 
Rogers,  whose  musical  compositions  were  fitted,  say  modern 
critics,  to  refine  and  improve  the  barbarous  taste  of  the  age, 
and  eventually  were  highly  esteemed  in  Scotland,  was  "  ridi- 
culed as  a  common  fiddler  or  buffoon."  A  Saturday  Reviewer, 
discussing  a  sister  art,  somewhere  hails  in  the  massive  head 
of  Herr  Joachim,  in  the  gravity  of  his  face,  and  the  energy  of 
its  expression,  a  just  rebuke  of  the  Philistines,  who  consider 
fiddling  a  light  and  trifling  occupation  ;  asserting  with  em- 
phasis that  to  pass  one's  life  in  the  interpretation  of  great 
music,  as  Herr  Joachim  does,  and  to  bring  to  the  task  some 
true  greatness  of  one's  own,  is  a  destiny  which,  though  beyond 
the  reach  of  most  of  us,  and  outside  of  our  faculties  and 
tastes,  is  at  least  as  noble  as  common  business,  and  perhaps, 
for  the  full  development  of  modern  civilization,  almost  as 
necessary.  A  brother  critic  refers  to  the  "  old  and  charac- 
teristically English  notion  about  fiddling" — which  in  Chester- 
field's time  seems  to  have  been  the  name  for  all  musical 
performance  or  predilection — "  being  an  unmanly  business, 
only  fit  for  Italians,"  as  surviving  even  now  in  the  minds  of 
many  honest  persons.      An   able  anonymous   essayist    (in 


FIDDLING  AND  FIDDLERS.  in 

composed  various  airs  and  pieces  of  sacred  music, 
in  which  there  was  to  be  recognized  the  same 
original  and  inventive  genius  which  distinguished 
this  remarkable  man  in  everything  to  which  he 
applied  his  mind.  James  the  Third  was  also  noted 
for  an  addiction  to  the  science  and  practice  of  music. 
Our  Richard  the  Third  was  so  fond  of  singing  that 
he  designed  what  Mr.  Miles  Beale  calls  "  a  sort  of 
Hullah  class" — empowering  an  officer  to  seize  for 

Macmillan)  on  Classical  Music  and  British  Musical  Taste, 
utters  a  lament  over  a  class  of  which  he  despairs  utterly, — 
those,  namely,  who  consider  the  fruit  of  the  thoughts  which 
absorbed  the  whole  lives  of  such  men  as  Handel  and  Beeth- 
oven as  pleasing  trifles,  fitted  only  for  the  occupation  of 
women  ;  and  who  place  a  fiddler  in  the  same  category  with 
man-milliners,  men-cooks,  and  male  opera-dancers.  They 
are  said  to  be  usually  fond  of  repeating  Swift's  sneer 
about  tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee,  and  to  pride  themselves 
on  their  ignorance  that  tweedle-dum  may  possibly  bear  the 
same  relation  to  tweedle-dee  that  the  tawdry  lithograph  on 
the  cover  of  the  music-seller's  ballad  does  to  the  Sistine 
Madonna.  "A  writer  in  a  late  number  of  a  well-known 
journal  delivered  himself  of  one  of  the  common  opinions  of 
this  class,  when  he  spoke  with  contempt  of  those  men  who 
fiddled  and  fluted  to  please  women.  The  mere  dangler  after 
women,  at  whom  he  justly  sneers,  is  a  man  very  unlikely  to 
play  the  fiddle.  Indeed,  we  might  say  that  we  fancy  that 
your  amateur  fiddler  is  somewhat  impatient  of  the  presence 
of  the  fair  sex.  An  old  friend  of  ours,  much  addicted  to 
quartett  playing,  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  sawing  his 
beloved  '  Strad'  up  for  firewood  as  of  admitting  his  wife  into 
the  music-room  during  the  celebration  of  the  mysteries." 


ROYAL  MUSICIANS. 


the  king's  chantries  all  such  singing  men  and 
children  as  he  could  find  with  voices  up  to  the 
mark.  Lord  Herbert  records  of  our  Henry  VIII. 
that  "he  was  (which  one  might  wonder  at  in  a 
king)  a  curious  musician,  as  two  entire  masses 
composed  by  him,  and  often  sung  in  his  chapel, 
did  abundantly  witness."  Kaiser  Karl  VI.  was  a 
great  musician,  say  the  histories  quoted  by  Mr. 
Carlyle, — fit  to  lead  orchestras,  and  had  composed 
an  opera, — "  poor  Kaiser,"  is  Mr.  Carlyle's  paren- 
thetical comment  on  that  fact.  But  no  such  plaintive 
parenthesis  is  assigned  to  the  flute-playing  propen- 
sities of  his  pet  prince,  Frederick  the  Great,  whose 
attachment  to  music  so  vexed  that  royal  ursa  major, 
his  peremptory  sire — the  latter  flinging  his  son's 
music  into  the  grate,  and  breaking  his  flute  ;  so 
that  young  Fritz  was  driven,  as  Archdeacon  Coxe 
tells  us,  to  pass  whole  nights  by  stealth  in  pursuit 
of  his  favourite  recreation,  holding  concerts  in 
forests  and  caverns,  during  his  hunting  excursions, 
with  musicians  privately  supplied  by  his  mother. 
Those  stolen  waters  were  very  sweet 


H3 


VII. 
temple  QJttgfc* 

I  Chron.  xvi.  41,  42  ;  2  Chron.  v.  12,  13. 

FOR  the  worship  of  the  Temple,  or  of  the 
Tabernacle  rather,  since  as  yet  the  ark  of 
the  covenant  of  the  Lord  remained  under  curtains, 
King  David  appointed  Heman*  and  Jeduthun,  and 

*  Connected  with  the  name  of  Heman  there  is  a  Curiosity 
of  Literary  Blundering  on  recent  record.  Robert  Southey,  as 
one  narrator  of  it  tells  us,  took  some  pains  to  give  a  correct 
text  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress;  and  in  his  edition,  Hopeful 
having  wondered  why  Littlefaith  had  not  plucked  up  a  heart 
and  stood  one  brush  with  such  a  company  of  cowards  as  the 
three  brothers  Faintheart,  Mistrust,  and  Guilt,  when  they 
robbed  and  wounded  him  in  Deadman's  Lane,  Christian  re- 
plies that  many  had  called  them  cowards,  but  few  had  found 
it  so  in  the  time  of  trial  ;  that  they  had  made  David  groan, 
mourn,  and  roar,  had  sorely  brushed  the  coats  of  Mordecai 
and  Hezekiah,  though  champions  in  their  days,  and  had 
handled  Peter  so  that  they  made  him  afraid  of  a  sorry  girl. 
N  ow.  as  the  critical  detective  remarks,  it  seems  a  thing  for 
wonder  that  Bunyan  should  have  ranked  Mordecai  with 
David,  Hezekiah,  and  Peter  ;  but  in  truth  he  did  not.     "  He 

8 


114  HEM  AN  AXD  HAM  AX. 

chosen  others,  expressed  by  name,  to  give  thanks 
to  the  Lord,  because  His  mercy  endureth  for  ever : 
"  And  with  them  Heman  and  Jeduthun,  with  trum- 
pets and  cymbals  for  those  that  should  make  a 
sound,  and  with  musical  instruments  of  God."  In 
His  house  should  they  praise  Him,  with  the  sound 
of  the  trumpet,  praise  Him  with  the  psaltery  and 
harp,  praise  Him  with  the  timbrel  and  pipe,  praise 
Him  with  stringed  instruments  and  organs,  praise 
Him  upon  the  loud  cymbals,  praise  Him  upon  the 
high-sounding  cymbals, — teaching  by  example 
everything  that  hath  breath  to  praise  the  Lord. — 
When  the  Tabernacle  of  David  gave  place  to  the 
Temple  of  Solomon,  the  Levites  which  were  the 


had  set  in  the  place  which  Southey  gives  to  Mordecai  one 
who  may  be  the  man  celebrated  as  second  in  wisdom  to 
Solomon,  and  certainly  was  a  psalmist  who  in  spiritual  dark- 
ness and  terror  cried  from  the  lowest  deep  as  a  castaway. 
This  was  Heman.  Some  editor  who  had  never  heard  Heman's 
name — like  the  mere  matter-of-fact  godfather  who,  being  ask 
to  give  the  child  a  Bible  name,  proposed  Baal-zebub — took  the 
next  text  that  came,  and  changed  Heman  to  Hainan.  Then 
Southey,  or  the  editor  from  whom  he  copied,  assured  that 
Bunyan  could  not  have  numbered  Haman  among  the  cham- 
pions of  the  faith,  concluded  that  since  it  was  not  Haman  it 
must  be  Mordecai.  Mr.  Offer  has  pointed  out  the  progress 
of  this  error,  which  in  all  probability  was  overlooked,  not  in- 
vented, by  Southey."  One  or  two  cognate  cases  of  literary 
.ring  are  exposed  in  the  Saturday  Review,  vol.  xxxi.. 


CHORAL   UNISON.  u5 


Singers,  all  of  them  of  Asaph,  of  Heman,  of  Jedu- 
thun,  with  their  sons  and  their  brethren,  were 
present  at  the  consecration,  arrayed  in  white  linen, 
having  cymbals  and  psalteries  and  harps,  and  with 
them  an  hundred  and  twenty  priests  sounding  with 
trumpets  ;  and  it  came  even  to  pass,  as  the  trum- 
peters and  singers  were  as  one, — a  choral  unison 
like  that  commemorated  by  Wordsworth  among 
the  mountains,  when,  after  a  day  of  flooding  rains, 
loud  was  the  vale — 

"  A  mighty  unison  of  streams 
Of  all  her  voices,  one  ! " — 

to  make  one  sound  to  be  heard  in  praising  and 
thanking  the  Lord  ;  and  when  they  lifted  up  their 
voice  (of  all  those  voices  one)  with  the  trumpets  and 
cymbals  and  instruments  of  music,  and  praised  the 
Lord,  saying,  For  He  is  good ;  for  His  mercy 
endureth  for  ever :  that  then  the  house  was  filled 
with  a  cloud,  even  the  house  of  the  Lord ;  so 
that  the  priests  could  not  stand  to  minister  by 
reason  of  the  cloud  ;  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord 
had  filled  the  house  of  God — which  glory,  never- 
theless, so  far  as  that  house  was  concerned,  was  to 
be  done  away.  The  Temple  made  with  hands  was 
to  be  dissolved  ;  indeed  Temple  after  Temple  was 
to  dislimn  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision, 
leaving  not  onestone    upon  another,  leaving   not 


n6    STRINGED  AND  WIND  INSTRUMENTS. 

a  rack  behind.  But  music  should  survive  that 
Temple,  and  all  Temples.  Heaven  should  be 
without  a  Temple,  but  in  Heaven  music  should 
never  cease.  "  I  saw  no  Temple  therein,"  declares 
the  Revealer,  St.  John  the  Divine.  But  he  heard 
music,  such  as  mortal  ear  elsewhere  never  heard, 
neither  had  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to 
conceive. 

In  order  to  give  the  best  effect  to  the  music  of 
the  tabernacle,  David  made  a  division  of  the  four 
thousand  Levites  into  twenty-four  classes,  who 
sang  psalms,  and  accompanied  them  with  music. 
Jahn  gives  a  separate  account,  one  by  one,  in  his 
Archccologia  Biblica,  of  the  various  instruments  in 
use  among  the  Hebrews  ;  whose  music,  he  casually 
remarks,  may  be  thought  to  have  been  too 
loud  and  noisy,  "  but  opinion  depends  much  on 
personal  habits  and  experience."  Of  stringed  in- 
struments he  treats  in  succession  of  the  most 
ancient  of  its  class,  the  harp,  to  which  Josephus 
in  his  Jewish  Antiquities  assigns  twelve  strings,  a 
small  bow  (plectrum)  being  used  in  his  time,  though 
the  instrument  was  originally  played  with  the  hand 
only;  and  the  psaltery,  called  in  the  Psalms  "a 
ten-stringed  instrument,"  though  Josephus  gives 
twelve  for  ten ;  while  of  wind  instruments  the 
most  noteworthy  are  the  so-called  organ,  nearly 


CONCERTED  MUSIC.  117 

equivalent  to  Pan's  pipe;  the  horn  or  crooked 
trumpet — whether  made  of  the  horns  of  oxen,  or 
of  rams'  horns,  or  of  brass  fashioned  to  resemble 
these  ;  and  the  straight  trumpet,  a  cubit  in  length, 
an  instrument  largely  in  use,  alike  in  peace  and  in 
war,  though  sounded  in  different  tones  for  such  dif- 
ferent issues.  Tabrets,  timbrels,  and  cymbals  were 
also  in  established  use.  From  Babylon  were  adopted 
various  other  instruments,  if  not  all  comprised  in 
the  compendious  list  iterated  and  reiterated  in  the 
Book  of  Daniel, — of  cornet,  flute,  harp,  sackbut, 
psaltery,  dulcimer,  and  all  kinds  of  music.  Con- 
certed music,  of  however  simple  and  rude  a  character, 
is  of  patriarchal  antiquity;  there  is  a  hint  of  the 
choral  symphony  in  Laban's  reproach  of  Jacob  for 
stealing  away  secretly,  instead  of  being  dismissed 
with  honour,  after  a  festive  parting,  to  be  celebrated 
"with  songs,  with  tabret,  and  with  harp."  Sym- 
phony, by  the  way,  is  the  very  word  used  in  the 
Greek,  when  the  prodigal  son  in  the  parable  is 
welcomed  back  with  a  similar  manifestation — for 
as  the  elder  brother,  out  in  the  fields,  drew  nigh 
to  the  house,  he  heard  av\i^viaq.  The  sym- 
phonies of  Jewish  temple-sendee  appear  to  have 
been  mainly,  if  not  exclusively,  choral ;  that  is, 
with  the  intermingling  of  voices.  Devoted  (not  to 
say  devout)  admirers  of  the  modern  symphony 
in  its   most  perfect  form,  are   apt   to   be  jealous 


n8  VOCAL  AND  INSTRUMENTAL. 

of  the  encroachment  of  vocal*  upon  instrumental 
rights.  The  author  of  Contarini  Fleming  avows  a 
passion  for  instrumental  music,  and  an  indifference 
to  the  human  voice,  which,  in  the  concert-room,  at 
least,  "  appears  to  me,  with  all  our  exertions,  a  poor 
instrument.  Sense  and  sentiment,  too,  are  always 
sacrificed  to  dexterity  and  caprice.  A  grand 
orchestra  fills  my  mind  with  ideas — I  forget  every- 
thing in  the  stream  of  invention.  A  prima  donna 
is  very  ravishing ;  but  while  I  listen  I  am  a  mere 
man  of  the  world,  or  hardly  sufficiently  well  bred 
to  conceal  my  weariness."  Whether  he  is  more 
than  ravished  by  the  Eroica  or  the  Pastorale  of 
the  master  of  all  symphony-writing,  one  can  only 


*  Some  are  even  of  opinion  in  the  instance  of  Handel's 
choruses,  despite  the  overwhelming  effect  of  the  combined 
masses  of  sound,  that  the  junction  of  voices  with  instruments 
is,  upon  the  whole,  disappointing,  and  undesirable  ;  an  unac- 
companied volume  of  voice-music  being  often  so  vastly  more 
effective,  than  when  swelled  by  the  co-operation  of  a  band, 
however  magnificent  in  numbers  and  perfect  in  execution. 
But  the  verdict  of  the  majority  would  no  doubt  be  the  other 
way.  Milton  might  be  quoted  on  their  side,  in  regard  of  a 
passage  about  the  continuous  strain  of  harp  music,  with 

"  The  solemn  pipe 
And  dulcimer,  all  organs  of  sweet  stop, 
All  sounds  on  fret  by  string  or  golden  wire, 
Temper  d  soft  tunings,  intermix' d  with  voice 
Choral  or  unison." 

Paradise  Lost,  vii.  594. 


BEETHOVEN'S  SYMPHONIES.  no 

speculate,  and  hope  ;  possibly  Mr.  Disraeli  could 
and  would  say  with  Dr.  Ludwig  Nohl,  that  he  feels 
to  this  day  just  as  he  felt  to  the  innermost  depths 
of  his  heart  in  the  days  of  his  youth  when  he  first 
heard  a  symphony  of  Beethoven's — that  a  spirit 
breathes  from  it  bearing  us  aloft  with  giant  power 
out  of  the  oppressive  atmosphere  of  sense,  stirring 
to  its  inmost  recesses  the  heart  of  man,  brin^ino- 
him  to  the  full  consciousness  of  his  loftier  beine. 
and  of  the  undying  within  him.*  King  George 
of  Hanover  claims  for  instrumental  music  the 
high  prerogative,  not  merely  of  expressing  every 
sensation  of  the  human  heart,  but  also  ot 
portraying,  in  a  manner  universally  intelligible, 
the  incidents  of  social  life,  the  glad  and  sad  occur- 
rences of  earthly  existence,  its  occupations  and 
repose,  its  perfect  tranquillity,  nay,  the  very  neigh- 
bourhoods and  landscapes,  better,  more  closely,  and 
more  home  to  the  feelings,  than  painting  and  poetry 
can  do  it.  For  this  reason  he  compares  it  to  a 
universal  language.     It  does  not,  he  remarks,  like 


*  "And  even  more  distinctly  than  when  a  new  world  was 
thus  disclosed  to  his  youthful  feelings  is  the  man  fully 
conscious  that  not  only  was  this  a  new  world  to  him,  but  a 
new  world  of  feeling  in  itself,  revealing  to  the  spirit  phases 
of  its  own,  which,  till  Beethoven  appeared,  had  never  been 
fathomed." — L.  Nohl,  Pref.  to  his  edit,  of  Beethoven's  Letters, 
(Lady  Wallace's  translation). 


120  REPRESENTATIVE  FUNCTIONS 

vocal  music,  require  the  aid  of  words  from  any 
language  whatever  to  make  itself  understood  in  the 
same  sense  and  manner  amongst  all  civilized  com- 
munities on  the  face  of  the  globe,  and  exercise  the 
same  influence  on  the  heart  and  soul  of  nations 
differing  the  most  widely,  according  to  the  object 
which  the  composer  has  in  view.  "  The  composer, 
then,  who  is  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  pecu- 
liar properties — the  compass,  the  power,  the  softness 
of  each  instrument,  and  can  calculate  their  effects, 
is  qualified  to  attain  the  most  surprising  and  won- 
derful results  by  the  skilful  application  of  these 
properties  ;  he  has  within  his  reach  the  means  of 
producing  a  complete,  animated,  and  intelligible 
poetry  by  instrumental  music,  without  ever  feeling 
the  necessity  for  words."  Many  classical  compo- 
sitions, the  royal  author  adds,  prove  this :  above 
all  the  masterpieces  of  Beethoven,  whose  Pastoral 
Symphony  he  analyses  in  some  detail,  to  illustrate 
his  thesis  ;  his  conclusion  being,  that  "  after  an 
accurate  and  profound  examination  of  so  complete 
and  masterly  a  composition,"  it  were  impossible  to 
dispute  the  high  province  of  music  to  represent  by 
tones  the  various  incidents  of  life  more  clearly  and 
impressively  than  any  other  art,  as  well  as  to  excite 
and  express  the  manifold  feelings  of  the  human 
heart.  The  former  of  these  two  functions  may 
easily  be  exaggerated ;  the  latter,  not  so.    Goethe's 


OF  INSTRUMENTAL   MUSIC.  121 

English  biographer,  with  his  wonted  clearness 
and  force,  urges  the  respect  due  to  one  car- 
dinal consideration  which  lies  at  the  very  basis 
of  all  argument  on  representative  art.  And  this  is, 
that  if  the  artist  desire  to  express  certain  philoso- 
phic conceptions  by  means  of  symbols,  he  must 
never  forget  that,  Art  being  Representative,  the 
symbols  chosen  must  possess  "in  themselves"  a 
charm  independent  of  what  they  mean  :  the  forms 
which  are  his  materials,  the  symbols  which  are  his 
language,  must  in  themselves  have  a  beauty  and  an 
interest,  readily  appreciable  by  those  who  do  not 
understand  the  occult  meaning.  Unless  they  have 
this,  Mr.  Lewes  says,  they  cease  to  be  Art ;  they 
become  hieroglyphics.  "Art  is  picture-painting, 
not  picture-writing.  Beethoven,  in  his  Symphonies, 
may  have  expressed  grand  psychological  concep- 
tions, which,  for  the  mind  that  interprets  them,  may 
give  an  extra  charm  to  strains  of  ravishment ;  but 
if  the  strains  in  themselves  do  not  possess  a  magic 
if  they  do  not  sting  the  soul  with  a  keen  delight, 
then  let  the  meaning  be  never  so  profound,  it  will 
pass  unheeded,  because  the  primary  requisite  of 
music  is  not  that  it  shall  present  grand  thoughts, 
but   that   it   shall   agitate   the   soul   with  musical 


emotions 


"  * 


*  So  again  the  poet  who  has  only  profound  meanings,  and 


122        ANALOGIES  IN  THE  SISTER  ARTS. 

There  are  strains  in  music,  it  has  been  said, 
masterpieces  of  great  masters,  epitomes  of  their 
genius,  which  in  actual  performance  occupy  a  few 
minutes — a  mere  point  of  time  ;  but  fraught  with 
such  fulness  of  harmony,  suggestive  of  such  vast 
ideas,  pressing  on  the  soul  with  such  a  weight  of 
undeveloped  meaning,  so  absorbing  to  sense,  rea- 
son,   and    intellect,    that    the    impression    left   on 


not  the  witchery  that  must  carry  his  expression  of  those 
meanings  home  to  our  hearts,  has  failed.  "  The  primary 
requisite  of  poetry  is  that  it  shall  move  us  ;  not  that  it  shall 
instruct  us." — Lewes'  Life  of  Goethe,  book  vii.,  chap.  vi. 

Our  best  critics  are  generally,  if  not,  like  Hartley  Coleridge, 
always  pleased  with  the  discovery  of  analogies  between  the 
sister  arts  ;  and  the  refined  critic  last  named  pleases  himself 
with  a  parallel  between  English  sacred  architecture  and  the 
music  of  Handel.  Of  the  Grecian  orders  he  says  that,  like 
pictures,  they  are  to  be  seen  and  comprehended  at  once, — 
the  whole  and  the  parts  are  viewed  together,  and  their 
coherence  is  judged  by  the  eye  ;  but  our  cathedrals,  from  their 
screens,  side  aisles,  transepts,  and  subsidiary  chapels,  can 
never  be  seen  altogether  ;  there  is  always,  as  when  you  are 
listening  to  a  solemn,  rich,  and  varied  harmony,  employment 
at  once  for  memory  and  anticipation ;  the  whole  is  not 
objected  to  the  senses,  but  must  be  constructed  by  the  imagi- 
nation,— always  implied,  but  never  present.  "  Now  the  music 
of  Handel,  though  multitudinous  as  the  ocean,  possesses  as 
complete  an  unity  as  the  simplest  air,  with  the  high  excellence 
that  each  part  is  prophetic,  as  it  were,  of  the  parts  that  are 
successively  to  be  unfolded."  But  here  the  dissertator  breaks 
off  with  a  significant,  "  But  I  fear  I  don't  make  myself  quite 
understood." — Ignoramus  o?i  the  Tine  Arts,  part  i. 


SPELL  IN  SACRED  MUSIC.  123 


the  memory  is  an  event  engaging  a  considerable 
period  of  time  ;  or  rather,  for  the  space  when  we 
sat  under  the  spell,  time*  ceased,  and  we  were 
under  another  dispensation,  dimly  awake  to  the 
influences  of  that  eternity  which  runs  along  with 
time,  but  is  not  measured  by  its  moments  or  hours, 
which  for  ever  broods  over  us,  but  eludes  the 
slippery  grasp  of  our  senses.  A  critic  of  rare 
culture  and  insight  has  said  that  we  feel,  on 
returning  from  hearing  The  Messia/i,  as  if  we  had 
shaken  off  some  of  our  dirt  and  dross — as  if  the 
world  were  not  so  much  with  us  :  our  hearts  are 
elevated,  and  yet  subdued,  as  if  the  glow  of  some 
good  action  or  the  grace  of  some  noble  principle 
had  passed  over  them.  "We  are  conscious  of 
having  indulged  in  an  enthusiasm  which  cannot 
lead  us  astray — of  having  tasted  a  pleasure  which 
is  not  of  the  forbidden  tree,  for  it  is  the  only  one 
which  is  distinctly  promised  to  be  translated  with 
us  from  earth  to  heaven."  Lady  Eastlake  almost 
feels  as  if  Handel's  sacred  music  would  have  re- 


*  So  Wordsworth,  in  reference  to  another  sense  ;  but  the 
lines  are  here  quoted  from  memory,  and  may  be  inexact : 

"  On  a  fair  prospect  some  have  look'd, 
And  felt,  as  I  have  heard  them  say, 
As  if  the  moving  time  had  been 
A  thing  as  steadfast  as  the  scene 
On  which  they  gazed  themselves  away." 


124  RELIGION  AND  HIGH  ARI. 

proved  the  French  of  infidelity,  and  enticed  the 
Scotch  from  Presbyterianism, — the  latter  the  less 
feasible  of  the  two,  she  surmises, — for,  of  all  the 
fancies  of  a  fretful  conscience  which  liberty  of 
opinion  has  engendered,  that  which  many  excel- 
lent people  entertain  on  the  subject  of  sacred 
music  seems  to  her  the  most  perverse.  Useless  she 
accounts  it  to  argue  with  those  who  mistake  a  total 
ignorance  of  the  sacred  things  of  art  for  a  higher 
sense  of  the  proprieties  of  religion ;  and  who,  if  they 
consistently  follow  up  their  own  line  of  argument, 
must  class  Handel,  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  indeed  all 
those  whose  powers  have  been  of  that  high  order 
which  only  the  highest  themes  could  expand,  as  so 
many  delegates  of  Satan,  mysteriously  permitted 
to  entrap  man  to  his  fall  through  his  loftiest  in- 
stincts of  beauty  and  reverence — as  if,  alas  !  he  had 
not  enough  to  ruin  him  without  that.  "  For  those 
who  forge  the  temptation  are  the  real  foes.  There 
is  no  reasoning  with  those  who  think  it  wrong 
to  be  edified  except  when  in  actual  worship,  and 
wicked  to  praise  God  in  any  music  but  such  as 
is  ordinary  enough  for  the  whole  congregation  to 
join  in.  Human  nature  is  a  strange  thing — never 
a  greater  puzzle  perhaps  than  when  it  conscien- 
tiously abjures  one  of  the  few  pure  pleasures  with 
which  the  hands  of  virtue  are  strengthened  here 
below."     This   writer   avows   an   unwillingness   to 


HANDEL'S   SUBLIMITY.  125 

believe  that  any  of  the  great  composers  ever  at- 
tempted to  express  the  awful  truths  of  sacred 
subjects  without  hearts  attuned  to  the  task  they 
had  undertaken  *  And  the  same  pen  denies  the 
possibility  of  conceiving  that  any  religious  com- 
positions should  exceed  those  of  Handel  in  true 
sublimity,  that  majesty  of  music  surpassing  his  can 
be  heard  in  the  flesh.  "  We  feel  that  the  sculptured 
grandeur  of  his  recitative  fulfils  our  highest  con- 
ception of  Divine  utterance — that  there  is  that  in 
some  of  his  choruses  which  is  almost  too  mighty 
for  the  weakness  of  man  to  express, — as  if  those 
stupendous  words,  '  Wonderful !  Counsellor !  The 


*  The  instance  is  cited  of  Handel's  jealousy  when  the 
bishops  sent  him  words  for  anthems,  as  he  felt  this  implied 
his  ignorance  of  the  Holy  Scriptures.  "  I  have  read  my 
Bible,"  said  he  ;  "  I  shall  choose  for  myself," — and  his 
selection  is  pronounced  better  than  theirs.  Haydn  is  quoted 
as  writing  at  the  commencement  of  all  his  scores,  In  nomine 
Domini,  or  Soli  Deo  Gloria,  and  at  the  end  of  them 
Laics  Deo.  "  When  I  was  occupied  upon  the  Creation" 
he  says,  "  always  before  I  sat  down  to  the  piano  I  prayed  to. 
God  with  earnestness  that  He  would  enable  me  to  praise 
Him  worthily."  And  in  reference  to  the  fact  that  Mozart 
composed  his  Requiem  with  the  shadow  of  death  upon  him, 
feeling  it  to  be  a  solemn  duty  which  he  must  work  while 
there  was  still  life  to  fulfil, — the  question  is  put  :  And  who 
is  there  that  can  hear  it  without  the  sense  of  its  sublimity 
being  enhanced  by  the  remembrance  of  its  being  the  work 
of  the  dying  for  the  dead  ? 


126  AIRS  FOR  CHURCH  MUSIC. 

Prince  of  Peace! '  could  hardly  be  done  justice  to 
till  the  lips  of  angels  and  archangels  had  shouted 
them  through  the  vast  Profound  in  his  tremendous 
salvos  of  sound :  and  yet  that,  though  the  power, 
of  such  passages  might  be  magnified  by  heaven's 
millions,  their  beauty  could  hardly  be  exalted." 
The  poetry  of  prose  like  this  is  of  a  higher  strain, 
and  pays  Handel  deeper  homage  than  does  the 
prosiness  of  poetry  like  Shenstone's — 

"When  Handel's  solemn  accents  roll, 
Each  breast  is  fixed,  each  raptured  soul 
In  sweet  confusion  lost." 

But  the  oratorio  has  led  us  too  far  away  from 
church  music,  more  properly  so-called.  What  sort 
of  airs  should  be  sung  in  church,  is  a  very  practical 
question  ;  yet  too  often  an  impracticable  one.  It 
was  among  the  cherished' tenets  of  Kavanagh  that 
sacred  melodies  were  becoming  to  sacred  themes ; 
he  did  not  wish  that  in  his  church,  as  in  some  of 
the  French  Canadian  churches,  the  holy  profession 
of  religion  should  be  sung  to  the  air  of  "When 
one  is  dead,  'tis  for  a  long  time," — the  command- 
ments, aspirations  heavenward,  and  the  necessity 
of  thinking  of  one's  salvation,  to  "  The  Frolics  of 
Spain,"  "  Louisa  was  sleeping  in  a  grove,"  or  a 
grand  "  March  of  the  French  Cavalry."  Well 
known  as  any  jest  perhaps  in  the  copious  collection 


PUTATIVE  FATHERHOOD   OF  JESTS.      127 

ascribed  to  Joseph  Miller,  is  the  mot  fathered  on 
Rowland  Hill,  by  way  of  plea  for  the  appropriation 
to  hymnal  purposes  of  secular  airs,  that  'twas  a 
shame  the  devil  should  have  all  the  pretty  tunes. 
The  venerable  sometime  pastor  of  Surrey  Chapel 
might  be  another  Joseph  Miller,  to  judge  by  the 
paternity  recklessly  imputed  to  him  of  jests  of  all 
sorts  and  sizes,  with  quite  unlimited  liability. 
Facetiae  that  were  already  withered,  stale,  flat,  and 
unprofitable  before  he  was  born,  have  been  freely 
fathered  upon  him  now  he  is  dead.  As  though 
upon  the  good  man's  tombstone  the  permit,  or 
special  licence,  had  been  engraved,  Rubbish  may  be 
shot  here.'  Talleyrand  and  Sheridan  divide  honours 
with  him  in  this  respect, — there"  being  between  all 
three  a  pretty  equal  division  made  of  these  jocular 
assets.  George  Selwyn,  in  his  time,  was  recognized 
by  the  voice  of  his  contemporaries  as  Receiver- 
General  of  Waif  and  Stray  Jokes — a  sufficient 
proof,  remarks  a  later  wit,  that  he  had  plenty  of 
his  own  ;  for  as  DAlembert  sarcastically  observed 
to  the  Abbe  Voisenon,  who  complained  that  he 
was  unduly  charged  with  the  absurd  sayings  of 
others — "  Monsieur  TAbbe,  on  ne  prete  qu'aux 
riches."  Johnson,  in  his  Life  of  Waller,  after 
repeating  a  mot  ascribed  to  him,  speaks  to  having 
once  heard  it  of  some  other  man,  and  adds  : 
"  Pointed  axioms  and  acute  replies  fly  loose  about 


128  UNLIMITED   LIABILITY. 

the  world,  and  are  assigned  successively  to  those 
whom  it  may  be  the  fashion  to  celebrate."  Sainte- 
Beuve  writes  of  the  bishop-count  of  Noyon,  Cler- 
mont-Tonnerre,  that  "selon  l'usage  du  monde 
cnvers  ces  reputations  riches,  une  fois  faites  et 
adopters,  on  lui  pretait  quantite  de  mots."  Judge 
Haliburton's  Senator  professes  to  be  not  very  fond 
of  telling  stories  himself,  for  though  one  may  know 
them  to  be  original,  still  they  may  not  be  new  ;  so 
certain  is  he  that  the  same  thing  has  often  been 
said  in  different  ages,  and  by  people  in  different 
countries,  who  were  not  aware  that  a  similar  idea 
had  occurred  to  and  been  expressed  by  others.* 


,  *  "I  have  heard  repartees  and  smart  sayings  related  here 
[in  England],  as  having  been  uttered  by  well-known  wits, 
that  I  have  myself  heard  in  America,  and  often  long  before 
they  were  perpetrated  here.  If  you  relate  a  story  of  that 
kind,  you  are  met  by  the  observation,  '  Oh,  that  was  said  by 
Sydney  Smith,  or  Theodore  Hook,  or  some  other  wit  of  the 
day.' "  — The  Season  Ticket,  chap.  ii. 

A  reviewer  of  Mr.  Timbs'  Lives  of  Wits  and  Humorists 
pointed  out  at  the  time  that  the  very  same  story  was  told 
by  him,  almost  in  the  same  words,  of  Foote  and  Sheridan  : 
the  adjuncts  were  certainly  different,  and  were  very  circum- 
stantial, as  in  most  of  these  verbal  faceticej  but  the  joke  was 
precisely  the  same. 

George  Peele's  memory  is  truly  said  to  have  suffered  con- 
siderably by  the  Merry  Conceited  Jests  that  go  under  his 
name  ;  his  innocence  of  many  of  the  scurrilous  jests  imputed 
to  him  being  probable  enough.     "It  was  an  easy  step,"  says 


129 


VIII. 
trumpet  %om^ 

Exod.  xix.  16,  sq.\  Judges  vii.  18,  sq. ;  I  Cor.  xv.  52. 

THE  trumpet  is  second  to  no  other  musical 
instrument  as  regards  prominent  mention  in 
holy  writ.  The  voice  of  the  trumpet  exceeding  loud, 
was  among  the  causes  that  made  all  the  people  in 
the  camp  tremble,  when  the  mount  burned  with 
fire.     And  it  was  after  the  voice  of  the  trumpet 

one  of  his  critics,  to  saddle  "  George,"  on  the  credit  of  some 
real  peccadilloes,  as  well  as  witticisms,  of  the  Sheridan  sort, 
with  many  imaginary  ones. 

Many  of  the  apophthegms  ascribed  to  Publius  Syrus  are 
thought  to  be  probably  due  to  others ;  yet,  as  Lord  Lytton 
observes,  the  very  imputation  to  him  of  sayings  so  exquisite, 
attests  his  rank  as  the  sayer  of  exquisite  things. 

Mr.  Theodore  Martin  tells  us  that  the  reputation  of  Pro- 
fessor Aytoun,  as  a  motive  power  in  Blackwood,  absorbed  by- 
its  powerful  attraction  all  fragments  of  matter  similar  to  his 
own  which  entered  the  common  system. 

We  find  Lord  Chesterfield  writing  to  Sir  Thomas  Robinson, 
in  1757,  that  "people  have  long  thrown  out  their  wit  and 

9 


130  TRUMPET  TONES. 

had  sounded  long,  waxing  louder  and  louder,  that 
Moses  spake,  and  God  answered  him  by  a  voice. 
Gideon's  stratagem  against  the  host  of  Midian  com- 
prised a  special  use  of  the  trumpet  by  each  man  of 
his  three  hundred  ;  all,  in  unison,  were  to  blow  their 
trumpets,  at  the  appointed  signal,  and  to  cry,  "  The 
sword  of  the  Lord,  and  of  Gideon  ! "  And  the  ex- 
pedient was  a  triumph.  The  prophet  is  bidden  cry 
aloud,  spare  not,  "  lift  up  thy  voice  like  a  trumpet." 
Homer  can  offer  no  simile  so  effective  as  that  of 
the  trumpet  to  indicate  the  vibrant,  ringing,  clangor- 
ous, resonant  accents  of  the  voice  of  Achilles  : 


humour  under  my  name,  by  way  of  trial :  if  it  takes,  the  true 
father  owns  his  child  ;  if  it  does  not,  the  foundling  is  mine." 
So  Butler  words  it,  in  one  of  his  metrical  satires  : 

"  The  world  is  full  of  curious  wit 
Which  those,  that  father,  never  writ,"  etc. 

So  again  Hudibras  in  his  epistle  to  Sidrophel,  remarking, 

"  That  all  those  stories  that  are  laid 
Too  truly  to  you,  and  those  made, 
Are  now  still  charged  upon  your  score, 
And  lesser  authors  named  no  more." 

Fra  Rupert,  in  Landoi^s  dramatic  trilogy,  exclaims, 

' '  And  this  too  will  be  laid  upon  my  shoulders. 
If  men  are  witty,  all  the  wit  of  others 
Bespangles  them." 

To  apply  the  reflection  of  Shakspeare's  cloistered,  philo- 
sophic duke  : 

"  thousand  'scapes  of  wit 

Make  thee  the  father  of  their  idle  dream." 


A   SUDDEN  BLAST.  131 

"  As  the  loud  trumpet's  brazen  mouth  from  far 
With  shrilling  clangor  sounds  th'  alarm  of  war, 
Struck  from  the  walls,  the  echoes  float  on  high, 
And  the  round  bulwark  and  thick  towers  reply ; 
So  high  his  brazen  voice  the  hero  rear'd  ; 
Hosts  dropp'd  their  arms,  and  trembled  as  they  heard." 

And  was  not  the  voice  which  John  heard  in  Pat- 
mos,  saying,  "  I  am  Alpha  and  Omega,"  and  which 
sounded  as  from  behind  him,  a  great  voice,  as  of  a 
trumpet  ? 

With  trumpets  the  conspirators  proclaimed  Jehu 
to  be  king.  And  when  Athaliah,  looking,  saw  the 
newly  proclaimed  king,  young  Jehoash,  standing 
by  a  pillar,  as  the  manner  was,  and  heard  how  the 
people  of  the  land  rejoiced,  and  "blew  with  trum- 
pets,"— then  it  was  that  the  foiled  and  baffled  dowa- 
ger rent  her  robes,  and  cried  "  Treason,  treason  !  " 
Racine  makes  his  precautionary  high-priest  enjoin 
his  agents,  in  taking  measures  for  the  discomfiture 
of  cette  reine,  ivre  dyiin  fol  orgueil, — 

"  Prenez  soin  qu'a  l'instant  la  trompette  guerriere 
Dans  le  camp  ennemi  jette  un  subit  effroi." 

And  one  of  his  subordinates  thus  describes,  in  an 
after  scene,  the  success  of  that  sudden  blast — that 
bray  and  blare  of  brazen  trumpets  : 

"  Partout  en  meme  temps  la  trompette  a  sonnd ; 
Et  ses  sons  et  leurs  cris  dans  son  camp  etonnd 
Ont  repandu  le  trouble  et  la  terreur  subite 
Dont  Gideon  frappa  le  fier  Madianite." 


132  THE   TRUMPET  IN  HOLY  WRIT. 

Trumpets  were  blown  by  the  priests  before  the 
ark.  When  Hezekiah  commanded  to  offer  the 
burnt-offering  upon  the  altar,  the  priests  with  the 
trumpets  stood  by,  and  "  the  song  of  the  Lord 
began  with  the  trumpets."  With  trumpets  the 
psalmist  would  have  a  joyful  noise  made  before  the 
Lord.  At  the  fall  of  Babylon,  in  apocalyptic  vision, 
the  voice  of  trumpeters  should  be  heard  no  more 
at  all  in  her.  But  the  seer  of  Patmos  has  to  tell  of 
seven  angels,  with  each  his  trumpet,*  which  he 
prepared  to  sound.  And  another  apostle  declares 
in  one  epistle  that  the  Lord  Himself  shall  finally  de- 
scend from  heaven  with  a  shout,  with  the  voice  of 
the  archangel,  and  the  trump  of  God  ;  awaking  the 
dead  in  Christ  to  rise  first ; — and  in  another,  that  we 
shall  all  be  changed,  in  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  at  the  last  trump  ;  for  the  trumpet  shall 
sound,  and  the  dead  shall  be  raised  incorruptible, 
and  wre  shall  be  changed. 

Milton  once  and  again  makes  reference  to  the 
sounding  of  that  last  blast  of  all.    As  where,  in  the 


*  An  Edinburgh  divine  has  told  the  world  how,  some  time 
since,  an  "individual"  calling  himself  the  Angel  Gabriel  held 
large  assemblages  of  the  Modern  Athenians  in  breathless 
attention  by  preaching  with  a  trumpet  in  his  hand,  which  he 
sounded  at  the  end  of  each  paragraph  of  his  sermon.  The 
story  implies  that  the  modern,  like  the  ancient  Athenians, 
love  something  new — anything  for  a  sensation — r\  Kaivorepov. 


THE  LAST   TRUMP.  133 

penultimate  book  of  the  Paradise  Lost,  we  read  of 

the  Son  giving  signal  high  to  the  bright  minister 

that  watched : 

"he  blew 
His  trumpet,  heard  in  Oreb  since  perhaps 
When  God  descended,  and  perhaps  once  more 
To  sound  at  general  doom." 

Again,  in  the  Ode  on  the  Nativity  : 

"  Yet  first,  to  those  ychain'd  in  sleep 
The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  thro'  the  deep  ; 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 

As  on  Mount  Sinai  rang, 
While  the  red  fire  and  smouldering  clouds  out  brake  : 

The  aged  earth  aghast, 

With  terror  of  that  blast, 
Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  centre  shake ; 

When,  at  the  world's  last  session, 
The  dreadful  Judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread  His  throne." 

Young  was  no   Milton ;    and  though  he    made 

"The  Last  Day"  his  special  topic,  the  strain  we 

hear  is  less  sublime  in  effect  than  design  : 

"  When,  lo  !  a  mighty  trump,  one  half  conceal'd 
In  clouds,  one  half  to  mortal  eye  reveal'd, 
Shall  pour  a  dreadful  note  ;  the  piercing  call 
Shall  rattle  in  the  centre  of  the  ball ; 
The  extended  circuit  of  creation  shake  ; 
The  living  die  with  fear,  the  dead  awake. 

Oh  !  powerful  blast,  to  which  no  equal  sound 
Did  e'er  the  frighten'd  ear  of  nature  wound." 

George  Herbert  cannot  refrain  from  quaint  con- 
cetti even  with  "  Doomsday  "  for  his  theme,  picturing 
as   he   does  the   stirring   dust  that  rubs  its  eyes 


134  THE  LAST  TRUMP. 

at  the  clarion  summons,  "  while  this  member  jogs 
the  other,  each  one  whispering,  Live  you,  brother  ? 

"  Dust,  alas,  no  music  feels, 
But  thy  trumpet  :  then  it  kneels, 
As  peculiar  notes  and  strains 
Cure  Tarantula's  raging  pains." 

The  close  of  Dryden's  Song  for  St.  Cecilia's 
Day  recognizes  the  movement  of  the  spheres  as 
initiated  by  the  power  of  sacred  lays  ;  and — 

"  So  when  the  last  and  dreadful  hour 
The  crumbling  pageant  shall  devour, 
The  trumpet  shall  be  heard  on  high, 
The  dead  shall  live,  the  living  die, 
And  Music  shall  untune  the  sky."  * 

Sound  the  horns  !    is  the  bidding  of  the  royal 

warrior,  in  the  Saga  of  King  Olaf: 

"And  suddenly  through  the  drifting  brume 
The  blare  of  the  horns  began  to  ring, 
Like  the  terrible  trumpet  shock 

Of  Regnarock, 
On  the  Day  of  Doom  ! » 

Plutarch  narrates  as  it  wTere  with  'bated  breath, 

in  his  Life  of  Sulla,  how,  one  day,  when  the  sky 

was   serene   and  clear,  there  was  heard   in  it  the 

sound  of  a  trumpetf  so  loud,  so  shrill  and  mourn- 

*  The  last  line  is  disapproved  of  by  the  critics  as  falling 
flat  upon  the  preceding  description.  "  I  could  wish/'  says 
Johnson,  "the  antithesis  of  music  untuning  had  some  other 
place." 

t  We  read  in  the  life  of  Anthony  a  Wood  of  an  alarm  at 


THE  BLAST  THAT  WAKES  THE  DEAD.     135 

ful,  that  it  frightened  and  astonished  all  the  world. 
"  The  Tuscan  sages  said  it  portended  a  new  race 
of  men,  and  a  renovation  of  the  world."  Mrs. 
Hemans  has  a  lyric  the  first  stanzas  of  which 
describe  the  rousing  of  a  land  by  trumpet  blast ; 
while  the  closing  one  peals  a  solemn  note  of  inter- 
rogation : 

"  And  all  this  haste,  and  change,  and  fear, 
By  earthly  clarion  spread  ! 
How  will  it  be  when  kingdoms  hear 
The  blast  that  wakes  the  dead  ?" 

A  later  and  more  vigorous  poetess  has  this  anti- 
papal  stanza  in  her  Poems  before  Congress,  on  the 
subject  of  Christmas  Gifts  at  Rome  :  His  Holiness, 
who  "sits  in  the  place  of  the  Lord,"  the  central 
figure,  and  the  object  of  metrical  onslaught : 

"  Cardinals  left  and  right  of  him, 
Worshippers  round  and  beneath, 

The  silver  trumpets  at  sight  of  him 
Thrill  with  a  musical  blast  : 

But  the  people  say  through  their  teeth, 
1  Trumpets  ?  we  wait  for  the  Last  ! ' n 
***** 

The  sound  of  a  trumpet,  in  Mozart's  infancy,  is 

Oxford  one  Sunday  during  service-time,  when  a  terrible  wind 
raged, — "  and  at  that  time  a  trumpet  or  trumpets  sounding 
neare  that  Cross-inn  dore,  to  call  the  soldiers  together,  because 
of  the  present  plott,  they  in  the  church  cried  out  that  the  Day 
of  Judgment  was  at  hand." — Life  of  Wood,  July  31,  1659. 


136         THE    TRUMPETS  LOUD   CLANGOR. 

said  to  have  threatened  him  with  convulsions.  To 
such  a  man,  observes  the  essayist  of  the  Seer,  and 
especially  so  great  a  master,  every  right  of  a  horror 
of  discord  would  be  conceded,*  supposing  his  ear 
to  have  grown  up  as  it  began ;  but  that  it  did  not 
so  is  manifest  from  his  use  of  trumpets.  The 
essayist  himself,  by  the  way,  is,  in  his  poetical  mis- 
cellanies, largely  given  to  the  use  of  trumpets. 
Thus,  in  the  Story  of  Rimini,  we  have  a  sustained 

blast  of 

"  trumpets  clear, 
A  princely  music,  unbedinn'd  with  drums  ;  t 
The  mighty  brass  seems  opening  as  it  comes, 
And  now  it  fills,  and  now  it  shakes  the  air, 
And  now  it  bursts  into  the  sounding  square  ;  .  .  . 
Then  with  a  long-drawn  breath  the  clangors  die, 
The  palace  trumpets  give  a  last  reply,"  etc. 

In  Captain  Sword  and  Captain  Pen,  "  the  trum- 
pets their  visible  voices  reared."  And  in  another 
section  of  that  poem,  Leigh  Hunt  combines, 
with   characteristic   epithets,    the  two  instruments 

*  In  reference  to  the  moot-point,  who  is  to  judge  at  what 
nice  degree  of  imperfection  the  disgust  is  to  begin,  where  no 
disgust  is  felt  by  the  general  ear. 

+  Dryden  is  not  careful  to  favour  any  such  superstition  : 

"  The  trumpet's  loud  clangor 

Excites  us  to  arms, 
With  shrill  notes  of  anger 

And  mortal  alarms, 
The  double  double  double  beat 

Of  the  thundering  drum,"  eta 


AN  INSPIRITING  BLAST.  137 

we  have  seen  him  fain  to  keep  asunder:  "Sneereth* 
the  trumpet,  and  stampeth  the  drum."  In  his 
verses,  again,  entitled  "  Power  and  Gentleness,"  he 
repeats  the  epithet  when  speaking  of  "the  harsh 
bray  the  sneering  trumpet  sends  across  the  fray." 
There  is  no  sneer  in  the  trumpet  tones  heard  by 
Bunyan  when  Christiana  and  her  boys  are  let  in  at 
the  wicket  gate  :  "  This  done,  he  [the  keeper  of  the 
gate]  called  to  a  trumpeter  that  was  above,  over 
the  gate,  to  entertain  Christiana  with  shouting,  and 
sound  of  trumpet,  for  joy.  So  he  obeyed,  and 
sounded,  and  filled  the  air  with  his  melodious 
notes."  But  the  accepted  function  of  the  instru- 
ment seems  to  be  Martem  accendere  cantu,  as  Virgil 
says  of  a  trumpeter;  so  martially  inspiriting  is 
the  blare.  The  goddess  of  Athens  was  supposed 
to  have  invented  a  peculiar  trumpet  used  by  her 
favoured  votaries.  At  the  battle  of  Salamis,  "  the 
trumpet  inflamed  them  with  its  clangor,"  says 
^Eschylus,  who  was  there  that  day.  Lipsius  has 
much  to  tell  us  of  the  Roman  trumpet,  in  his 
De  Militid  Rornanu :   one    noteworthy  point,   re- 


*  Why  this  is  affectations,  censors  of  the  Cockney  school, 
as  it  once  was  styled,  will  be  apt  to  say.  John  Keats,  the 
cock  of  that  Cockney  school,  so  called,  has  an  equally  odd 
epithet  for  the  trumpet,  in  his  Eve  of  St.  Agnes,  where  we 
read  how,  "  up,  aloft,  The  silver,  snarling  trumpets  'gan  to 
chide? 


138  SONOROUS  METAL. 

counted  by  Gibbon,  is,  that  the  charge  was  sounded 
by  a  horse-trumpet  of  solid  brass,  as  distinguished 
from  the  retreat,  which  was  sounded  by  the  foot- 
trumpet  of  leather  and  light  wood  ;  but  this  per- 
tains rather  to  the  times  of  the  decline  and  fall  of 
the  empire  than  to  the  palmy  days  of  ancient 
Rome.  In  his  elaborate  description  of  the  triumph 
of  Paulus  ^Emilius,  Plutarch  is  particular  to  men- 
tion that  the  trumpets  came  first,  not  with  such 
airs  as  are  used  in  a  procession  of  solemn  entry,  but 
with  such  as  the  Romans  sounded  when  animating 
their  troops  to  the  charge. 

In  Chaucer's  Knightes  Tale  we  catch  on  echo  of 

"  Pypes,  trompes,  nakers,  and  clariounes, 
That  in  the  batail  blewe  bloody  sownes." 

That  is  a  sonorous  line  of  Milton's,  in  the  pro- 
cession to  the  Stygian  Council,  "Sonorous  metal 
blowing  martial  sounds."  And  in  the  following 
book,  when  describing  the  departing  from  the 
council  of  the  "  grand  infernal  Peers,"  he  writes  : 

"  Then  of  their  session  ended  they  bid  cry, 
With  trumpets'  regal  sound  the  great  result: 
Towards  the  four  winds  four  speedy  Cherubim 
Put  to  their  mouths  the  sounding  alchemy, 
By  herald's  voice  explain'd  ;  the  hollow  abyss 
Heard  far  and  wide."  * 


*  The  metallic  clangor  is  in  this  instance  answered  with 
a  vocal  outburst  fully  its  match  ;  for,  "  all  the  host  of  Hell 


STIRRING  SOUND   OF  THE   TRUMP.        139 


Jam  litui  strcpunt,  is  the  sure  signal  for  doughty 
deeds  of  arms.  Experience  has  proved,  says 
Gibbon,  that  the  mechanical  operation  of  sounds, 
by  quickening  the  circulation  of  the  blood  and 
spirits,  will  act  on  the  human  machine  more  forcibly 
than  the  eloquence  of  reason  and  honour.  Butler 
speaks  of  "  trumpet  and  of  drum,  that  makes  the 
warrior's  stomach  come — 

"  For  if  a  trumpet  sound,  or  drum  beat, 
Who  has  not  a  month's  mind  to  combat  ?" 

Fray  Antonio  Agapida  bears  record  of  the  famous 
Count  de  Tendilla,  that  he  permitted  no  sound  of 

with  deafening  shout  return'd  them  loud  acclaim."  Readers 
of  Scott  may  recall  his  account  of  the  thrilling  and  astounding 
clamour  to  which  each  Welshman  lent  his  voice  with  all  the 
energy  of  defiance,  thirst  of  battle,  and  hope  of  conquest, 
when  the  standard  of  Gwenwyn  was  raised  against  Raymond 
Berenger ;  the  blast  of  the  Norman  trumpets  being  fairly  over- 
borne by  the  vocal  vehemence  of  the  Welshmen.  "  Cherily 
as  they  rung,  the  trumpets,  in  comparison  of  the  shout  which 
they  answered,  sounded  like  the  silver  whistle  of  the  stout 
boatswain  amid  the  howling  of  the  tempest."  In  another  of  his 
works  Sir  Walter  speaks  of  the  "  long  and  melancholy  notes 
sent  forth  "  by  trumpets, — as  if  this  were  their  characteristic 
music ;  but  the  occasion  is  funereal,  and  the  trumpets  have 
"  banners  of  crape  "  attached  to  them.  Funereal  that  music, 
however,  inevitably  sounds  in  some  ears  ;  as  in  those  of  the 
matres  in  Horace's  first  ode  :  "aghast  pale  mothers  hear  the 
trumpeter,  and  loathe  the  murderous  blast," — as  Father  Prout 
pretty  freely  Englishes  the  lituo  tubce  fiermixtus  sonitus 
passage,  bellaque  matribus  detestata. 


i4o        CLAMOROUS  HARBINGERS  OF  WAR. 

lute,  or  harp,  or  song,  or  other  emasculating  min- 
strelsy, to  be  heard  in  his  fortress  :  no  other  music 
was  allowed  than  "the  wholesome  rolling  of  the 
drums,  and  braying  of  the  trumpet,  and  such-like 
spirit-stirring  instruments  as  fill  the  mind  with 
thoughts  of  iron  war."  Not  but  that  warrior  bold 
can,  on  occasion,  if  it  is  in  him,  wax  sentimental 
too  at  the  trumpet's  sound  ;  after  the  manner,  for 
instance,  of  Dr.  Croly's  Salathiel,  who  thus  dis- 
courses of  its  effect :  "  Every  blast  from  the  palace- 
roof  was  answered  for  miles  around.  The  whole 
horizon  was  alive  with  enemies;  and  yet,  if  in  every 
call  captivity  and  death  had  not  been  the  language, 
this  circling  echo  of  the  noblest  of  all  instrument, 
coming  in  a  thousand  various  tones  from  the  varied 
distances,  softened  by  the  dewy  freshness  of  the 
night,  and  breathing  from  sources  invisible,  as  if 
they  were  inspired  by  the  winds,  or  poured  from 
the  clouds,  might  have  seemed  sublime." 

Shakspeare  had  an  open  ear  for  the  martial 
influences  of  what  Macduff  calls  "  those  clamor- 
ous harbingers  of  blood  and  death."  His  Antony 
summons  the  trumpeters,  before  Alexandria,  with 
brazen  din  to  blast  the  city's  ear.  His  Agamem- 
non summons  one  to  give  with  his  trumpet  a  loud 
note  to  Troy,  that  "  the  appalled  air  may  pierce 
the  head  of  the  great  combatant,"  Hector,  and 
hail  him  hither.     Ajax  is  still  broader  and  more 


ARCHANGELS  TRUMP.  i4r 

boisterous  in  style,  as  becomes  the  manner  of  the 
man : 

"  Thou,  trumpet,  there's  my  purse. 
Now  crack  thy  lungs,  and  split  thy  brazen  pipe  ; 
Blow,  villain,  till  thy  sphered  bias  cheek 
Outswell  the  colic  of  puff'd  Aquilon  ; 
Come,  stretch  thy  chest,  and  let  thine  eyes  spout  blood  : 
Thou  blow'st  for  Hector." 


But  of  these  trumpet  tones  the  echo  is  endless, 
will  be  unless  a  pause  be  enjoined,  a  full  stop 
peremptorily  enforced.  With  one  brief  flourish 
from  Wordsworth  be  the  strain  concluded,  and  yet 
no  flourish  either,  but  a  grave  passage,  suggestively 
solemn,  if  not  sublime  : — 

"  The  trumpet  (we,  intoxicate  with  pride, 
Arm  at  its  blast  for  deadly  wars) 
To  archangelic  lips  applied, 
The  grave  shall  open,  quench  the  stars." 


142 


IX. 
pairing;  (Cattf,  but  bearing  not* 

Jeremiah  v.  21. 

LARGE  is  the  meaning,  as  well  as  frequent  the 
reference,  in  Scripture,  to  ears  which  lack 
the  sense  of  hearing.  An  aesthetical  application  of 
it  in  the  interests  of  music  may  perhaps  be  sanc- 
tioned for  the  nonce.  Be  it,  then,  allowably  (and, 
as  old-fashioned  divines  understand  the  phrase, 
accommodatingly)  applied  in  this  place  in  the  sense 
of  Elia's  celebrated  Chapter  on  Ears.  That  essay 
opens  with  the  bold  announcement,  unconditionally 
made  in  a  one-line  paragraph  per  se,  "  I  have  no 
ear."  By  which  negative  affirmation,  however,  the 
essayist  means,  forthwith  explaining  his  meaning, 
not  that  he  was  by  nature  destitute  of  those  "  ex- 
terior twin  appendages,  hanging  ornaments,  and 
(architecturally  speaking)  handsome  volutes  to  the 
human  capital;"  nor  that,  like  Defoe,  he  had 
suffered  hideous  disfigurement  in  that  quarter ;  but 


NO  EAR  FOR  MUSIC.  T43 

that  he  had  simply  no  ear  for  music.  True,  it  were 
a  foul  self-libel  in  him  to  say  that  his  heart  never 
melted  at  the  concord  of  sweet  sounds — for  "  In 
Infancy,"  and  that  other  dulcet  strain  of  Dr.  Arne's, 
"  Water  parted  from  the  sea,"  never  failed  to  move 
it  strangely ;  and  Elia  even  believed  that  "  senti- 
mentally "  he  was  predisposed  to  harmony.  But 
"organically"  he  was,  on  his  own  showing,  incapable 
of  a  tune;*  and  scientifically,  he  could  never  be  made 
to  understand  (though  he  had  taken  some  pains) 
what  a  note  in  music  is  ;  or  how  one  note  should 
differ  from  another.t  There  is  Charles  Lamb's 
usual  whimsicality  of  exaggeration  in  all  this.  But 
with  something  of  a  grotesque  seriousness  he  com- 


*  "  I  have  been  practising  '  God  save  the  King '  all  my 
life  ;  whistling  and  humming  of  it  over  to  myself  in  solitary 
corners  ;  and  am  not  yet  arrived,  they  tell  me,  within  many 
quavers  of  it." — Essays  of  Elia;  A  Chapter  on  Ears. 

t  "  Much  less  in  voices  can  I  distinguish  a  soprano  from 
a  tenor.  Only  sometimes  the  thorough-bass  I  contrive  to 
guess  at,  from  its  being  supereminently  harsh  and  disagree- 
able."— Ibid. 

At  Mr.  Macpherson's,  in  Slate,  Dr.  Johnson  told  his  en- 
tertainer that  he  knew  a  drum  from  a  trumpet,  and  a  bagpipe 
from  a  guitar ;  and  that  he  declared  to  be  about  the  extent 
of  his  knowledge  of  music.  Boswell  speaks  of  him,  during 
their  tour  to  the  Hebrides,  as  apparently  fond  of  the 
bagpipe  ;  for  he  would  often  stand  for  some  time  with  his  ear 
close  to  the  great  drone  ;  and  at  Armidale,  Dunvegan.  Col, 
etc.,  they  had  the  music  of  the  bagpipe  every  day. 


144  ELIA'S  AVOW. 

plains  how  hard  it  is  to  stand  alone  in  an  age  like 
this, — (constituted  to  the  quick  and  critical  per- 
ception of  all  harmonious  combinations,  he  verily 
believes,  beyond  all  preceding  ages,  "since  Jubal 
stumbled  upon  the  gamut,") — to  remain,  as  it  were, 
singly  unimpressible  to  the  magic  influences  of  an 
art  "  which  is  said  to  have  such  an  especial  stroke 
at  soothing,  elevating,  and  refining  the  passions." 
Yet,  for  his  part,  Elia  candidly  owns  to  having 
received  a  great  deal  more  pain  than  pleasure  from 
"this  so  cried-up  faculty."  He  denies  not  that,  in 
the  opening  of  a  concert,  he  has  experienced  some- 
thing vastly  lulling  and  agreeable ;  but  afterwards, 
and  all  too  soon,  followed  the  languor  and  the 
oppression ;  and  "  like  that  disappointing  book  in 
Patmos  "  were  these  bitter-sweets  to  him. 

When  Homer  says  of  his  own  blind  bard  that  the 
Muse  gave  him  good  and  evil,  depriving  him  of  his 
eyes,  but  granting  him  the  gift  of  song,  we  under- 
stand, says  Robert  Southey,  the  compensation : 

Tbu  iripi  MoOcr  £<pi\r}cre,  didov  d'ayaddv  re  Kaicbv  re, 
'0(pda\fiQv  yJkv  dfiepae,  didov  dydelav  doid-qv  ; — 

but  what,  the  Doctor  asks,  can  compensate  a 
musician  for  the  loss  of  hearing  ?  There  is  no 
inward  ear  *  to  be  the  bliss  of  solitude  ;  though,  as 

*  Victor  Hugo's  deaf  bellringer  of  Notre  Dame  finds  his 
delight  in  seeing  the  movements  he  cannot  hear.     On  one 


A   DEAF  MUSICIAN.  145 

Wordsworth  has  taught  us,  an  inward  eye  there 
is.  The  Doctor's  discourse  concerns  that  good  old 
Lutanist  of  the  seventeenth  century,  Master  Thomas 
Mace,  whose  Musics  Monument  is  a  folio  volume 
of  mark — "  matchless  "  is  Dr.  Burney's  epithet  for 
it, — and  to  whom  "  Time  did  this  wrong,"  that  it 
deprived  him  of  his  highest  gratification,  for  he 
became  so  deaf  that  he  could  not  hear  his  own  lute. 
A  deaf  musician  is  not  the  man  one  would  consult 
for  an  impartial  judgment  on  the  vexed  question, 
whether  total  deafness  or  stone  blindness  is  the 
greater  calamity*     Milton's  total  eclipse  of  eye- 


occasion,  for  instance,  we  read  of  Quasimodo,  that  when, 
in  the  high  loft  of  the  belfry,  he  had  set  the  six  bells  in 
motion,  when  he  felt  that  bunch  of  bells  swinging  in  his 
hand ;  when  he  saw,  for  he  could  not  hear,  the  palpitating 
octave  running  up  and  down  that  sonorous  scale,  like  a  bird 
hopping  from  twig  to  twig  ;  when  u  the  demon  of  Music, 
that  demon  which  shakes  a  glittering  quiver  of  stretti,  trills, 
and  arpeggios,"  had  taken  (demoniacal)  possession  of  the 
poor  deaf  bellringer,  he  forgot  all  his  troubles,  and  was  once 
again  happy. 

*  Chesterfield  is  recording  his  sufferings  from  the  stone 
(not  stone-blindness), _when  he  thus  writes  to  his  son  :  "  God 
keep  you  from  that  and  deafness  !  other  complaints  are  the 
common  and  almost  the  inevitable  lot  of  human  nature,  but 
admit  of  some  mitigation  ;  "  which,  by  implication,  deafness 
does  not.  Chesterfield  spoke  feelingly ;  but  what  were  his 
feelings  to  a  Beethoven's,  but  as  moonlight  is  to  sunlight,  or 
as  water  is  to  wine  !  As  for  your  ordinary  deaf  man,  cynical 
Chamfort  disposes  of  hi?n,  and  of  the  pity  that  is  felt  (or  at 

10 


j  46  MENDELSSOHN'S  DREAD  OF  DEAFNESS. 

sight  wrought  him  no  such  misery,  either  in  degree 
or  in  kind,  as  Beethoven  suffered  from  the  deafness 
which  for  him  totally  eclipsed  the  sunshine  of  Life. 
How  the  horror  of  such  a  fate  affected  Mendelssohn 
may  be  seen  in  a  passage  of  Madame  Polko's  Life 
of  him,  where  we  read  that  at  a  rehearsal  of  the 
"Messiah"  at  Leipzig,  "Mendelssohn  started  up 
from  the  piano  in  the  most  violent  agitation,  ex- 
claiming, 'I  am  deaf!'"  At  once  his  physician 
was  summoned,  and  the  attack  soon  passed  away; 
but  never  was  the  patient  so  scrupulous  as  then  in 
not  throwing  the  prescribed  physic  to  the  dogs,  but 


least  expressed)  for  him,  after  this  style  :  "  On  croit  le  sourd 
malheureux  dans  la  societe.  N'est-ce  pas  un  jugement 
prononce  par  l'amour-propre  de  la  societe,  qui  dit  :  Cet 
homme-la  n'est-il  pas  trop  a  plaindre  de  n'entendre  pas  ce  que 
nous  disons  ?" 

Montaigne  says  in  one  of  his  essays,  "  If  I  were  compelled 
to  choose,  I  should  sooner,  I  think,  consent  to  lose  my  sight 
than  my  hearing  and  speech."  It  was  mainly  in  regard  of 
the  pleasures  of  conversation  that  he  pronounced  this  hypo- 
thetical preference. 

David  Hartley  incidentally  observes  that,  from  comparing 
the  imperfections  of  such  persons  as  have  never  heard,  with 
those  of  persons  that  have  never  seen,  it  appears  that  the  ear 
is  of  much  more  importance  to  us,  considered  as  spiritual 
beings,  than  the  eye.  This  he  ascribes  to  the  great  use  and 
necessity  of  words  for  the  improvement  of  our  knowledge, 
and  enlargement  of  our  affections.  See  Hartley's  Theory  of 
luman  Mind,  Sect,  v.,  Prop.  xxvi. 


BEETHOVEN'S  DIRE  AFFLICTION.        147 

conscientiously  swallowing  it,  day  and  night,  if 
haply,  and  happily,  so  overwhelming  a  calamity 
might  be  warded  off;  as  most  happily,  and  com- 
pletely, it  was. 

As  early  as  1800  we  find  Beethoven  complain- 
ing in  his  letters  of  the  too  evident  inroads  of  this 
aggressive  malady.  "  Your  Beethoven  is  very  un- 
happy," he  writes  to  Pastor  Amenda  in  that  year ; 
"you  must  know  that  one  of  my  most  precious 
faculties,  that  of  hearing,  is  become  very  defective. 
....  Whether  I  shall  ever  be  cured  remains  to  be 
seen  ;  it  is  supposed  to  proceed  from  the  state  of 
my  digestive  organs."  Again :  "  Oh,  how  happy 
should  I  now  be,  had  I  my  full  sense  of  hearing  ; 
...  I  must  withdraw  from  everything.  My  best 
years  will  thus  pass  away,  without  effecting  what 
my  talents  and  powers  might  have  enabled  me 
to  perform.  How  melancholy  is  the  resignation  in 
which  I  must  take  refuge  !  I  had  determined  to 
rise  superior  to  all  this,  but  how  is  it  possible  ?  If 
in  the  course  of  six  months  my  malady  be  pro- 
nounced incurable,  then,  Amenda,  I  shall  appeal 
to  you  to  leave  all  else  and  come  to  me,  when 
I  intend  to  travel  (my  affliction  is  less  distressing 
when  playing  and  composing,  and  most  so  in  inter- 
course with  others),  and  you  must  be  my  com- 
panion." To  Wegeler  he  writes  in  the  same  year, 
that  his  hearing  during  the  last  three,  has  been 


148         BEETHOVEN  NO  MISANTHROPE. 

getting  gradually  worse  ;  that  his  doctor  has  striven 
to  restore  the  tone  of  his  digestion  by  tonics,  and 
his  hearing  by  oil  of  almonds,  all  to  no  effect ;  for 
while  his  digestion  continued  in  its  former  plight, 
his  hearing  became  worse.  "  My  ears  are  buzzing 
and  ringing  perpetually,  day  and  night.  I  can  with 
truth  say  that  my  life  is  very  wretched  ;  for  nearly 
two  years  past  I  have  avoided  all  society,  because  I 
find  it  impossible  to  say  to  people,  /  am  deaf !  In 
any  other  profession  this  might  be  more  tolerable, 
but  in  mine  such  a  condition  is  truly  frightful. 
Besides,  what  would  my  enemies  say  to  this  ? — and 
they  are  not  few  in  number."  *    Numerous  anecdotes 


*  Later  again  he  tells  the  same  correspondent,  "  You  could 
scarcely  believe  what  a  sad  and  drear}-  life  mine  has  been  for 
the  last  two  years ;  my  defective  hearing  even-where  pursuing 
me  like  a  spectre,  making  me  fly  from  every  one,  and  appear 
a  misanthrope  ;  and  yet  no  one  in  reality  is  less  so.;:  In  the 
remarkable  letter  addressed  by  Beethoven  in  1802  to  his 
brothers  Carl  and  Johann,  he  describes  himself  as  one  who, 
born  with  a  passionate  and  susceptible  temperament,  and 
keenly  alive  to  the  pleasures  of  society,  had  been  obliged 
early  in  life  to  isolate  himself,  and  to  pass  his  existence  in 
solitude.  If  at  any  time  he  resolved  to  surmount  all  this,  he 
was  repelled  by  the  ever-saddening  experience  of  his  defective 
hearing  :  and  he  found  it  impossible  to  bid  others  u  speak 
louder,  shout  !  for  I  am  deaf."  How  could  he  proclaim  his  de- 
ficiency in  a  sense  which  ought  to  have  been  more  perfect  with 
him  than  with  other  men  ? — a  sense  which  he  once  possessed 
in  the  utmost  perfection,  to  an  extent  indeed  that  few  of  his 


BEETHOVEN'S  INCURABLE  MALADY.     149 

represent  Beethoven  as  very  susceptible,  and  very- 
passionate.    The  fact  is  made  use  of  by  Mr.  Herbert 

profession  ever  enjoyed.  "  My  misfortune  is  doubly  severe 
from  causing  me  to  be  misunderstood."  Therefore  prays  he 
to  be  forgiven  by  his  brothers  when  they  see  him  withdraw 
from  those  with  whom  he  would  so  gladly  mingle.  "  What 
humiliation  when  any  one  beside  me  heard  a  flute  in  the  dis- 
tance, while  I  heard  nothing,  or  when  others  heard  a  shep- 
herd singing,  and  still  I  heard  nothing  !  Such  things  brought 
me  to  the  verge  of  desperation,  and  well-nigh  caused  me  to 
put  an  end  to  my  life."  Towards  the  close  of  this  letter  the 
tempest-tossed  and  not  comforted  writer  appeals  to  the 
Searcher  of  hearts,  as  knowing  that  love  for  man  and  feelings 
of  benevolence  have  their  abode  in  His, — "Oh,  ye  who  may 
one  day  read  this,  think  that  you  have  done  me  injustice." 
And  then  he  bids  Carl  and  Johann,  as  soon  as  he  is  no  more, 
beg  Professor  Schmidt,  in  his  name,  to  describe  his  malady, 
"  and  to  add  these  pages  to  the  analysis  of  my  disease,  that 
'at  least,  as  far  as  possible,  the  world  may  be  reconciled  to 
me  after  my  death."  Six  years  later  we  find  him  telling  his 
"  dear  old  friend  "  Wegeler  again  of  the  demon  that  has  taken 
up  a  settled  abode  in  his  ears  ;  and  again  mooting  in  morbid 
mood  the  question  of  self-slaughter.  To  Bettina,  about  the 
same  time,  he  writes  :  "  My  ears  are,  alas,  a  partition-wall, 
through  which  I  can  with  difficulty  hold  any  intercourse  with 
my  fellow-creatures." 

Of  the  effect  this  malady  produced  upon  Beethoven's 
character,  we  may  be  reminded  by  that  produced  by  it  in  the 
instance  of  the  painter  Goya,  whose  deafness,  so  complete 
that  he  could  not  hear  the  discharge  of  firearms,  was  the 
result  of  a  violent  cold.  Though  the  infirmity  was  in  Goya's 
instance  absolutely  incurable,  and  all  hope  of  even  alleviating 
it  was  wanting,  he  is  said  to  have  found  means  of  replacing 
the  lost  sense  to  some  extent  by  his  extraordinary  precision  of 


EMOTIONAL  ELABORATION. 


Spencer  in  his  argument  touching  the  extremely 
acute  sensibilities  of  musical  composers  as  a  rule ; 
it  is  part  of  his  evidence  to  show  that  as  the  tones, 
intervals,  and  cadences  of  strong  emotion  were  the 
elements  out  of  which  song  was  elaborated,  so  a 
still  stronger  degree  of  emotion  produced  the 
elaboration.  And  he  shows  that  the  same  passion- 
ate, enthusiastic  temperament  which  naturally  leads 
the  musical  composer  to  express  the  feelings  pos- 
sessed by  others  as  well  as  himself,  in  extremer 
intervals  and  more  marked  cadences  than  they 
would  use,  also  leads  him  to  give  musical  utter- 
ance to  feelings  which  they  either  do  not  experience, 
or  experience  in  but  slight  degrees.  Hence  arise 
more  involved  musical  phrases,  conveying  more 
complex,  subtle,  and  musical  feelings.  And  thus, 
we  may,  as  he  suggests,  in  some  measure  under- 
stand how  it  happens  that  music  not  only  so  excites 
our  more  familiar  feelings,  but  also  produces  feel- 
ings we  never  had  before — arouses  dormant  senti- 
ments, of  which  we  had  not  conceived  the  possibility 
and  do  not  know  the  meaning ;  or,  as  Richter  says, 


ocular  observation  ;  persons  who  knew  him  saying  that  so 
long  as  he  could  watch  the  lips  of  the  speaker  there  was  not 
even  a  suspicion  of  his  deafness.  But  the  influence  of  the  mis- 
fortune upon  his  character  was  confessedly  most  unfavour- 
able: he  became  irritable  and  sarcastic,  saying  and  writing 
the  severest  things  even  of  his  most  intimate  friends. 


FROM  BEETHOVEN  TO  SHAKSPEARE.    151 

"  tells  us  of  things  we  have  not  seen  and  shall  not 
sec."  This  the  music  of  deaf  Beethoven  emphati- 
cally does : 

"  The  tones  are  mix'd, 
Dim,  faint,  and  thrill  and  throb  betwixt 
The  incomplete  and  the  unfix'd. 
"  Therein  a  mighty  mind  is  heard 
In  mighty  musings,  inly  stirr'd, 
And  struggling  outward  for  a  word. 
"  Until  these  surges,  having  run 
This  way  and  that,  give  out  as  one 
An  Aphrodite  of  sweet  tune." 

But  this  is  digressing;  and  whom  would  not 
Beethoven  make  to  digress,  and  within  what  limits  ? 
Paulo  minora  canamus. 

More  than  one  grave  objector  has  fallen  foul  of 
Shakspeare's  celebrated  lines,  assuming  them  to  have 
expressed  his  own  personal  feeling  in  the  matter, 
and  not  merely  to  have  a  dramatic  propriety  from 
the  lips  of  Lorenzo,  when  moonlight  was  sleeping 
on  the  bank  in  the  avenue  at  Belmont,  and  the 
sounds  of  music  crept  in  the  ears  of  him  and 
Jessica, —  soft  stillness  and  the  night  heightening 
the  touches  of  sweet  harmony  : 

"  The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 
Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils  ; 
The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus  : 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted." 


IXDIFFEREXCE   TO  MUSIC. 


Just  so,  again,  does  Shakspeare's  Caesar  avow  his 
distrust  of  "  that  spare  Cassius"  (would  he  were 
fatter !),  who  so  seldom  smiles,  and,  though  he 
reads  much,  "he  hears  no  music."*  Owen  Feltham 
affirms  of  those  who  altogether  despise  music,  that 
they  may  well  be  suspected  to  be  somewhat  of  a 
savage  nature.  "  And  I  think  he  has  not  a  mind 
rightly  formed,  whose  zeal  is  not  inflamed  by  a 
heavenly  anthem.  .  .  .  We  find  that  in  Heaven 
there  are  Hallelujahs  sung."  William  Tytler,  natu- 
rally partial  to  music,  used  to  assign  to  it  what  Mac- 
kenzie calls  "  a  degree  of  moral  importance  which 
some  might  deem  a  little  whimsical."  He  used  to  say 


*  Olivia  Marchmont,  in  the  novel,  is  specially  and  cha- 
racteristically denied  anything  like  musical  sensibility.  All 
things  that  compose  the  poetry  and  beauty  of  life  are  denied 
to  her,  in  common  with  the  tenderness  which  constitutes  the 
main  charm  of  womanhood.  She  would  indeed  sit  by  the 
piano  while  Mary,  her  step-daughter,  revelled  in  the  delights 
of  the  great  masters,  and  would  watch  those  slight  hands 
wandering  over  the  keys,  while  the  player's  soul  wended  its 
flight  into  trackless  regions  of  dreamland ;  but  the  elder 
woman  "  heard  nothing  in  the  music  but  so  many  chords,  so 
many  tones  and  semi-tones,  played  in  such  or  such  a  time." 
King  Rene,  in  Anne  of  Geierstein,  being  assured  by  one  of 
the  musicians  whom  he  presses  to  remember  the  tunes  his 
daughter  Queen  Margaret  approved,  that  he  had  never  known 
her  Majesty  endure  any  strain  with  patience,  threatens  to  turn 
the  plain-spoken  truth-speaker  out  of  his  service  for  slandering 
the  taste  of  his  daughter. 


MUSIC  OF  THE  EASTERNS.  153 

that  he  never  knew  a  good  taste  in  music  associated 
with  a  malevolent  heart*  The  table-talk  of 
Luther  is  no  way  chary  of  praise  of  song.  Except 
theology,  there  is  no  art  which  can  be  placed  in 
comparison  with  music,  he  says  on  one  occasion ; 
on  another, — "  As  for  them  who  despise  music,  the 
dreamers  and  mystics,  I  despise  them."  Again : 
"  Singing  is  the  best  exercise  there  is :  we  have 
nothing  else  at  all  comparable  with  it.  ...  I  am 
glad  that  God  has  denied  to  those  obstinate  rebels 
of  peasants  a  gift  so  valuable,  so  full  of  consolation  ; 
they  do  not  care  for  music,  and  they  reject  the 
word  of  God." 

That  the  Easterns,  generally,  have  no  ear,  may 
be  a  travellers'  tale,  but  it  is  a  more  than  twice-told 
one.  "  Djebel  Druse,"  for  instance,  is  certainly  not 
the  land  of  song,  the  author  of  The  Modern  Syrians 
remarks,  "  and  nothing  harrows  up  the  ears  like  its 
merciless  music."  Not  that  he  means  to  say  that 
Arab  music  is  altogether  disagreeable  when  one 
gets  accustomed  to  it ;  but  he  never  heard  the  song 
and  tabor  of  the  Druses  without  pain.  "  The  per- 
fection of  vocal  music  in  Lebanon  is  to  be  throaty 

*  Being  asked  what  prescription  he  would  recommend  for 
attaining  an  old  age  as  healthful  and  happy  as  his  own, — 
"  My  prescription,"  said  he,  "  is  simple  :  short  but  cheerful 
meals,  music,  and  a  good  conscience." — Bwgorfs  Life  of  P.  E, 
Tytler,  p.  7. 


154  NO  EAR   OR  SOUL  FOR  MUSIC. 

and  nasal,"  while  that  "  most  offensive  guttural,  the 
ghain,"  equivalent  to  the  Northumbrian  burr,  fills 
up  the  intervals,  and  acts  as  the  vehicle  of  all  fiori- 
turi*  The  Countess  Hahn-Hahn,  in  her  Oricntal- 
ischc  Brief c,  describes  some  minstrels  at  a  wedding 
at  Beyrout  as  singing,  with  all  their  bodily  might, 
in  the  "most  discordant  tones  that  can  issue  from 
the  human  throat,  mingling  together  wild  screams 
with  guttural  and  nasal  sounds — a  terrible  concert," 
from  which  she  made  all  haste  to  escape. 

The  Asiatic  has  no  ear  and  no  soul  for  music,  we 
are  assured  by  the  Howadji  who  printed,  in  Eothen 
style,  a  volume  of  Nile  Notes.  "  Like  other  savages 
and  children,  he  loves  a  noise,  and  he  plays  on 
shrill  pipes — on  the  tarabuka,  on  the  tar  or  tam- 
bourine, and  a  sharp  one-stringed  fiddle,  or  rabab. 
Of  course,  in  your  first  Oriental  days,  you  will  de- 
cline no  invitations,  but  you  will  grow  gradually 
deaf  to  all  entreaties  of  friends  or  dragomen  to 
sally  forth  and  hear  music.  You  will  remind  him 
that  you  did  not  come  to  the  East  to  go  to  Bed- 
lam."   Mr.  G.  W.  Curtis  calls  the  want  of  music  not 

*  In  another  passage  the  Oriental  Student,  describing  an 
Easter  Day  in  Damascus,  records  his  impression  of  some 
uncouth  songs  chorused  by  old  women,  and  relates  how 
the  Hanum  sang  entirely  through  her  nose,  and  put  her 
stretched  hand  to  her  cheek  in  order  to  make  the  sound 
louder;  and  how  the  din  of  tambourines,  kettledrums,  and  the 
snivelling  songstress,  nearly  gave  him  a  headache. 


ORIENTAL  DISQUALIFICATIONS.         155 

strange,  for  silence  is  natural  to  the  East  and  to 
the  tropics.  Nor  was  any  Mozart  needed,  he  goes 
on  to  say,  to  sow  Persian  gardens  with  roses 
breathing  fragrance  and  beauty ;  no  Beethoven 
was  needed  to  build  mighty  Himalayas  ;  no  Ros- 
sini to  sparkle  and  sing  with  the  birds  and  streams. 
"  Those  realities  are  there,  of  which  the  composers 
are  the  poets  to  Western  imagination.  In  the  East 
you  feel  and  see  music,  but  hear  it  never." 

Yet,  to  declare  the  Easterns  incapable  of  im- 
provement in  the  art,  is  to  go  a  little  too  far.  It  is 
to  contradict  experience.  Singing  was  one  of  the 
things  taught  to  the  Moslem  girls  Miss  Whately 
succeeded  in  getting  to  her  school  in  Cairo ;  and  it 
is  on  record,  by  one  who  quotes  Mr.  Hullah's 
dictum,  that  Oriental  music  is  fundamentally  and 
systematically  diverse  from  our  own,  that  the  girls' 
first  discordant  attempts  at  a  gamut  might  have 
suggested  a  belief  that  the  cats,-  instead  of  the 
daughters  of  Cairo,  had  been  secured  as  pupils.  But 
as  in  three  months  the  sweet  singing  of  the  children 
was  what  visitors  most  admired  in  the  school,  the 
inference  is  drawn  that  no  organic  disqualification 
exists  in  Egyptians,  at  least,  for  conversion  to 
Western  belief  and  practice  about  scales  and  tones.* 


*  "I  suppose  you  may  have  read,"  says  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu,  in   one  of  her  letters  from   the  East,  "that   the 


156  TWO  EARS  AND  NO  EAR. 

Swift  commemorates  con  amove  his  own  lack  of 

musical  taste : 

"Grave  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  how  comes  it  to  pass 
That  you,  who  know  music  no  more  than  an  ass,''*  etc. 


Turks  have  no  music  but  what  is  shocking  to  the  ears ;  but 
this  account  is  from  those  who  never  heard  any  but  what  is 
played  in  the  streets,  and  is  just  as  reasonable  as  if  a 
foreigner  should  take  his  ideas  of  English  music  from  the 
bladder  and  string,  or  the  marrowbones  and  cleavers.  I  can 
assure  you  that  the  music  is  extremely  pathetic."  True,  her 
ladyship  inclines  to  prefer  the  Italian,  but  makes  the  con- 
fession apologetically,  saying  that  perhaps  she  is  partial  ; 
and  she  quotes  an  accomplished  Greek  lady,  very  well  skilled 
in  both,  who  gives  the  preference  to  the  Turkish. 

*  The  asinine  reference  recalls  what  Mr.  Thackeray  says 
of  one  of  his  favourite  characters  :  "  Warrington  scarcely 
knew  one  tune  from  another,  and  had  but  one  tune  or  bray 
in  his  repertoire, — a  most  discordant  imitation  of  God  save 
the  King." 

Sheridan's  attempts  in  the  like  direction  are  described  by 
Michael  Kelly  as  canine :  "  He  made  a  sort  of  rumbling  noise 
with  his  voice  (for  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  turning  a 
tune),  resembling  a  deep  bow,  wow,  wow.  .  .  .  There  was 
not  the  slightest  resemblance  of  an  air  in  the  noise  he  made." 
Sir  Joseph  Banks  is  supposed  to  proclaim  in  Peter  Pindar, 
glorying  in  the  defect, — 

"To  these  two  ears,  a  bear  Marchesi  growls, 
Mara  and  Billington  a  brace  of  owls." 

With  astoundment  Mr.  Pepys  in  his  Diary  makes  this  entry 
of  the  affirmation  of  a  noble  lord :  "  But  strange  to  hear  my 
Lord  Lauderdale  say  himself  that  he  had  rather  hear  a  cat 
mew   than  the  best   music   in   the  world  ;   and  the   better 


MR.   PEPYS'S  DIURNAL.  157 

Nevertheless  he  is  known  to  have  had  the  power  of 
mimicking  it  in  a  wonderful  degree — witness  his 


the  music,  the  more  sick  it  makes  him" — not,  however,  for 
the  same  reason  as  in  the  case  of  Miss  Lee's  Stanhope, 
in  the  Canterbury  Tales.  "  He  must  be  very  unsociable," 
remarks  the  lady  of  the  house ;  and,  as  he  does  not  love 
music,  "  Then  he  has  no  sensibility."  "  I  doubt  the  conclu- 
sion," says  Rivaz,  with  a  shrug  ;  and  when  Stanhope  is  him- 
self appealed  to  on  the  subject,  "  It  is  only  good  music  that 
I  shun/'  he  says  ;  "  I  have  no  objection  to  the  mediocre." 
"  Surely  one  objection  is  rather  more  unaccountable  than  the 
other."  "  Indeed ! — I  hope  you  will  always  think  so,  madam." 
Pepys  himself  was  a  bit  of  an  enthusiast  over  music,  and 
not  a  little  impatient  of  what  marred  its  beauties,  and  of 
those  who  meddled  with  it  who  ought  not.  Of  some  boys 
whose  day  was  over  at  the  Chapel  Royal,  he  writes,  for  in- 
stance, "  Notwithstanding  their  skill,  yet  to  hear  them  sing 
with  their  broken  voices,  which  they  could  not  command  to 
keep  in  tune,  would  make  a  man  mad — so  bad  it  was." — 
(Aug.  21,  1667.)  The  untunableness  of  Mistress  Pepys  was 
a  standing  grievance  with  her  and  our  Samuel ;  who,  how- 
ever, upon  one  occasion  thus  delivers  himself  in  his  diurnal : 
"How  did  I  please  myself  to  make  Betty  Turner  sing,  to 
see  what  a  beast  she  is  as  to  singing,  not  knowing  how  to 
sing  one  note  in  tune ;  but,  only  for  the  experiment,  I  would 
not  for  4.0s.  hear  her  sing  a  tune  ;  worse  than  my  wife  a 
thousand  times,  so  that  it  do  a  little  reconcile  me  to  her."— 
(Jan.  22,  1667-68.) 

One  or  two  other  entries  in  the  Diary,  on  the  same  subject, 
have  the  Pepysian  piquancy  in  full  flavour.  "Being  returned 
home,  I  find  Greeting,  the  flageolet-master  come,  and  teaching 
my  wife  ;  and  I  do  think  my  wife  will  take  pleasure  in  it, 
and  it  will  be  easy  for  her,  and  pleasant.  So  to  the  office, 
and   then   before   dinner   making  my  wife  to  sing.     Poor 


158  MR.  PEPYS  IN  ECSTASIES. 

burlesque  imitation  of  the  chromatics  of  Mr.  Rosin- 
grave  on  the  organ,  to  the  inexpressible  amuse- 
ment of  his  guests,  excepting  one  matter-of-fact 
old  gentleman  who  retained  his  gravity,  and  re- 
mained unmoved,  because,  as  he  said,  he  "had 
heard  Mr.  Rosingrave  himself  perform  the  same 
piece  that  morning." 

It  is  said  of  Brienne  that  being  at  the  Sistine 
Chapel  at  Rome  in  the  Holy  Week,  he  allowed 
that  the  singing  was  very  fine,  to  the  gratification 
of  a  friend,  who  was  thus  encouraged  to  exclaim, 


wretch  !  her  ear  is  so  bad  that  it  made  me  angry,  till  the 
poor  wretch  cried  to  see  me  so  vexed  at  her,  that  I  think  I 
shall  not  discourage  her  so  much  again,  but  will  endeavour  to 
make  her  understand  sounds,  and  do  her  good  that  way ; 
for  she  hath  a  great  mind  to  learn,  only  to  please  me." — 
(March  I,  1666-67.)  Just  a  year  later  we  have  Mr.  Pepys  in 
ecstasies  at  the  effect  of  certain  "wind  musick"  at  the  King's 
House,  which  did  please  him  "beyond  any  thing  in  the  whole 
world" — "so  sweet  that  it  ravished  me,  and,  indeed,  in  a 
word,  did  wrap  up  my  soul  so  that  it  made  me  really  sick, 
just  as  I  have  formerly  been  when  in  love  with  my  wife 
[before  she  became  the  poor  wretch]  ;  that  neither  then,  nor 
all  the  evening  going  home,  and  at  home,  I  was  able  to  think 
of  anything,  but  remained  all  night  transported,  so  that  I 
could  not  believe  that  ever  any  musick  hath  that  real  com- 
mand over  the  soul  of  a  man  as  this  did  upon  me ;  and 
makes  me  to  resolve  to  practise  wind-musick,  and  to  make 
my  wife  do  the  like."— (Feb.  27,  1667-6S.)  Fresh  storm 
brewing  for  that  poor — woman,  in  this  promise  (or  threat)  of 
wind-music.     Blow,  gentle  gales,  was  never  written  for  her. 


UNMUSICAL  POETS.  159 

"Ah,  I  see  you  begin  to  like  music."  "No,"  was 
the  reply,  "  I  can't  go  as  far  as  that,  but  I  can  now 
understand  the  possibility  of  a  person  being  fond 
of  music  without  being  either  a  fool  or  a  mad- 
man."    Wordsworth  is  free  to  avow  himself  one 

"  of  whose  touch  the  fiddle  would  complain, 
Whose  breath  would  labour  at  the  flute  in  vain, 
In  music  all  unversed."  * 

Sir  Walter  Scott  expressly  affirms  in  his  auto- 
biography that,  his  mother  being  anxious  to  have 
all  her  children  taught  psalmody,  the  "  incurable 
defects"  of  his  voice  and  ear  drove  his  teacher f 
to  despair.  "  It  is  only  by  long  practice  that  I 
have  acquired   the   power   of  selecting   or  distin- 


*  In  a  letter  of  Leigh  Hunt's,  dated  July  8,  1848,  occurs 
this  obiter  scriptum :  "  Wordsworth,  I  am  told,  does  not 
care  for  music  !  And  it  is  very  likely,  for  music  (to  judge 
from  his  verses)  does  not  seem  to  care  for  him.  I  was 
astonished  the  other  day,  on  looking  in  his  works  for  the 
first  time  after  a  long  interval,  to  find  how  deficient  he  was 
in  all  that  may  be  called  the  musical  side  of  a  poet's  nature, 
— the  genial,  the  animal-spirited  or  bird-like, — the  happily 
accordant."  Had  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt  in  that  same  interval, 
perhaps  too  long  an  interval,  also  lost  his  ear  for  what  there 
is  of  grand  and  solemn  organ-like  harmony  in  Wordsworth's 
higher  strains  and  loftier  flights  ? 

t  Alexander  Campbell,  an  enthusiast  in  Scottish  music, 
who  however  would  not  allow  that  Walter  had  a  bad  ear ; 
it.  was  mere  want  of  will,  he  contended. 


160  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT:  EAR  OR  NO  EAR? 

guishing  melodies ;"  and  though  in  mature  life 
few  things  delighted  or  affected  him  more  than  a 
simple  song  sung  with  feeling,  he  avowed  that  even 
this  pitch  of  musical  taste  had  only  been  gained 
by  attention  and  habit,  and,  as  it  were,  by  his 
feeling  of  the  words  being  associated  with  the 
tune*  In  his  Diary  of  November,  1825,  we  come 
across  this  entry,  apropos  of  some  after-dinner 
music  at  the  house  of  Sir  Robert  Dundas  :  "  I  do 
not  know  and  cannot  utter  a  note  of  music ;  and 
complicated  harmonies  seem  to  me  a  babble  of 
confused  though  pleasing  sounds."  Yet  simple 
melodies,  he  adds,  especially  if  connected  with 
words  and  ideas,  had  the  same  effect  on  him  as  on 
most  people.  But  then  he  demanded  expression 
and  feeling  ;  he  could  not  bear  a  voice  that  had 
"  no  more  life  in  it  than  a  pianoforte  or  a  bugle- 


*  The  late  C.  R.  Leslie,  in  his  pleasant  pen-picture  of  Sir 
Walter  at  Home,  records  his  belief,  from  personal  observa- 
tion, that  in  music  Scott's  enjoyment  arose  chiefly  from  the 
associations  called  up  by  the  air  or  the  words  of  a  song. 
"  I  have  seen  him  stand  beside  the  piano  or  harp  when 
Lady  Compton,  Miss  Clephane,  or  Mrs.  Lockhart  were 
playing  Highland  music,  or  a  military  march,  his  head  and 
whole  figure  slightly  moving  in  unison  with  the  instrument, 
and  with  an  expression  in  his  face  of  inward  delight,  that 
told  more  plainly  than  words  could  tell,  how  thoroughly 
he  relished  the  performance." — Autodiogr,  Recollections  of 
C.  R.  Leslie,  ch.  iv. 


THOMAS  HOOD.  161 

horn."  "  Tom  Moore's  is  the  most  exquisite  war- 
bling I  ever  heard."  Some  critics  refuse  to  believe 
that  a  man  capable  of  writing  such  lyrics  as  Sir 
Walter  wrote,  could  have  other  than  a  real  ear 
for  music.  But  the  apparent  inconsistency  is  of 
no  singular  occurrence.  Thomas  Hood,  his  daugh- 
ter bears  witness,  though  endowed  with  the  most 
delicate  perception  of  the  rhythm  and  melody 
of  versifying,  and  the  most  acute  instinct  for  any 
jarring  syllable  or  word,  and  peculiarly  happy  in 
the  musical  cadence  of  his  own  poetry,  had  yet  not 
the  slightest  ear  for  music :  he  could  not  sing  a 
tune  through  correctly.* 

The  Haunted  Man,  in  Mr.  Dickens'  Christmas 
story  so  called,  shudders  when  he  stops  to  listen 
to  a  strain  of  plaintive  music,  but  can  only  hear  a 


*  To  what  Mrs.  Broderip  relates  in  the  text,  her  brother 
adds  a  foot-note  which  mentions  how  people  would  comment 
on  this  deficiency  to  their  father,  and  how  he  took  it.  One 
flourisher,  for  instance,  "just  safe  landed  from  a  rhapsody 
on  music,"  with  which  Mr.  Hood's  looks  betokened  a  very 
imperfect  sympathy,  ventured  on  the  compassionating  re- 
mark, "Ah,  you  know,  you've  no  musical  enthusiasm — you 
don't  know  what  it  is."  The  author,  however  goodnaturedly 
aware  of,  and  prompt  to  recognize,  his  deficiency,  was  not 
to  be  snubbed  by  this  sort  of  man,  and  in  this  sort  of  way, 
so  he  answered,  "  Not  know  it?  oh  yes,  I  do — it's  like  turtle 
soup — for  every  pint  of  real,  you  meet  with  gallons  of  mock, 
with  calves'  heads  in  proportion." 

II 


i62  DULL   OF  HEARING. 

tune,  made  manifest  to  him  by  the  dry  mechanism 
of  the  instruments  and  his  own  ears,  with  no  ad- 
dress to  any  mystery  within  him,  without  a  whisper 
in  it  of  the  past,  or  of  the  future,  powerless  upon 
him  as  the  sound  of  last  year's  running  water,  or 
the  rushing  of  last  year's  wind.*  Which  things 
are  an  allegory ;  and  the  haunted  man  is  an  ano- 
maly ;  but  his  incapacity  is  more  or  less  shared 
by  shoals  of  commonplace  mortals,  of  the  normal 
type.  Says  one  such,  in  a  dramatic  fragment  of 
Barry  Cornwall's — 


*  In  another,  earlier,  and  more  popular  of  those  Christmas 
stories,  that  sombre  man  of  stratagems  and  spoils,  Tackleton, 
growls  at  coming  upon  old  Caleb  in  the  act  of  essaying  a 
fragment  of  a  song.  "  What  !  you're  singing,  are  you  ?  / 
can't  sing."  Nobody  would  have  suspected  him  of  it,  says 
his  author  :  he  had  not  what  is  generally  termed  a  singing 
face,  by  any  means.  As  Moliere's  Sosie  exclaims  in  the 
Amphitryon, 

"  Cet  homme  assurement  n'aime  pas  la  musique." 

It  is  Moliere's  Maitre  de  Musique  who  assures  le  bourgeois 
gentilhomme  that  "  tous  les  desordres,  toutes  les  guerres  qu'on 
voit  dans  le  monde,  narrivent  que  pour  n'apprendre  pas  la 
musique  ; "  which  thesis  he  demonstrates  by  a  music-master's 
syllogism.  If  Monsieur  Jourdain  ever  came  to  care  for 
music,  it  would  probably  be,  like  his  attainments  in  prose, 
without  the  knowing  it  :  possibly  his  personal  predilections 
would  have  jumped  with  those  of  Bottom  the  weaver,  who 
tells  Titania,  "  I  have  a  reasonable  good  ear  in  music  :  let  us 
\ave  the  tonsrs  and  the  bones." 


CHROMATIC  SCALES.  163 

"  I  see  small  difference 
'Tween  one  sound  and  its  next.     All  seem  akin, 
And  run  on  the  same  feet  ever." 

Which  candid  avowal   is   hushed,    not  to   say   is 
snubbed,  by  a  remonstrant's 

"  Peace  !    Thou  want'st 
One  heavenly  sense,  and  speak'st  in  ignorance. 
Seest  thou  no  differing  shadows,  which  divide 
The  rose  and  poppy  ?    'Tis  the  same  with  sounds. 
There's  not  a  minute  in  the  round  of  time 
But's  hinged  with  different  music.     In  that  small  space, 
Between  the  thought  and  its  swift  utterance, — 
Ere  silence  buds  to  sound, — the  angels  listening 
Hear  infinite  varieties  of  song." 


164 


W$z  Grate=(L(iloriD  anti  SQuftiu 

Job  xxxix.  24,  25  ;  Psalm  lviii.  5. 

A  ~\  7"E  have  recognition  in  holy  writ  of  the  effect 

*  »  of  musical  sounds  upon  four-footed  creatures 
and  creeping  things.  The  Psalmist  makes  a  sug- 
gestive simile  of  the  deaf  adder  that,  an  exception 
to  the  rule,  stoppeth  her  ears,  and  refuseth  to  hear 
the  voice  of  the  charmer,  charm  he  never  so  wisely. 
In  the  book  of  Job,  the  horse  that  paweth  in  the 
valley,  and  rejoiceth  in  his  strength,  mocking  at 
fear,  and  no  way  affrighted  at  the  sword,  is  de- 
scribed as  (for  thus  Umbreit  renders  the  passage) 
"  standing  not  still  when  the  trumpet  soundeth," 
but  stirred  by  it,  even  as  a  Philip  Sidney  might  be, 
and  was.  And  when  the  trumpet  sounds,  his  voice 
is  heard  as  if  he  said  Aha  ! — or  said  that  he  heard 
the  summons  to  battle.  The  bray*  of  the  trumpets 
is  answered  by  the  neighing  of  the  steed. 

*  Bray  would  be  answered  by  bray,  were  the  wild  ass,  and 


ASS'S  BRAY.  165 


How  music  tells  upon  the  brute-world  is  a  topic 
of  frequent  illustration  in  miscellaneous  literature. 


not  the  horse,  the  subject  of  the  description  ;  and  in  Scripture 
the  ass  is  not  the  mean  creature  which  European  associations 
have  made  of  it  :  degrading  usages  had  not  vulgarized  it  into 
a  by-word  for  contumely  and  ridicule.  The  bray  of  the  ass 
would  no  more  sound  contemptible  to  eastern  ears,  in  old 
times,  than  the  bray  of  the  trumpet. 

Poets  and  prose  essayists  of  our  own  have  plentifully  had 
their  say,  sung  or  said,  about  the  ass's  bray,  and  generally  in 
terms  the  reverse  of  admiring  or  appreciative.  An  asinine 
anthology  of  this  kind  might  be  easily  and  copiously  collected, 
— but  it  would  be  thought  too  asinine  an  affair  altogether. 
Cowper  says,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  John  Newton,  that  all 
the  sounds  uttered  by  nature  are  delightful,  at  least  in  this 
country ;  adding,  however,  that  he  might  not,  perhaps,  find 
the  roaring  of  lions  in  Africa,  or  of  bears  in  Russia,  very 
pleasing  ;  "  but  I  know  no  beast  in  England  whose  voice  I 
do  not  account  musical,  save  and  except  always  the  braying 
of  an  ass."  The  gentle  bard  of  Olney  was  almost  sore  upon 
this  subject.  In  a  letter  to  Unwin  he  apologizes  for  an 
abrupt  close  by  pleading  the  constraints  of  a  distracting  bray. 
"  A  neighbour  of  mine,  in  Silver-end,  keeps  an  ass  ;  the  ass 
lives  on  the  other  side  of  the  garden  wall,  and  I  am  writing 
in  the  greenhouse  :  it  happens  that  he  is  this  morning  most 
musically  disposed,  whether  cheered  by  the  fine  weather,  or 
by  some  new  tune  which  he  has  just  acquired,  or  by  finding 
his  voice  more  harmonious  than  usual.  It  would  be  cruel  to 
mortify  so  fine  a  singer  ;  therefore  I  do  not  tell  him  that  he 
interrupts  and  hinders  me,  but  I  venture  to  tell  you  so,  and  to 
plead  his  performance  in  excuse  for  my  abrupt  conclusion." 
Boileau  credits  Monsieur  l'Ane  with  more  moderation ;  de- 
claring of  him,  that,  "  instruit  par  la  nature,"  he 


1 66  ASININE  APOLOGETICS. 

Dr.  John  Brown  tells  a  story,  in  his  Horce  Subsecivce, 
of  a  certain  Wandering  Willie,  "  an  Orpheus,  an 


"  Ne  va  point  follement  de  sa  bizarre  voix 
D^fier  aux  chansons  les  oiseaux  dans  les  bois." 

Hartley  Coleridge  does  well  to  disallow  Cowper's  exclusive 
condemnation  of  the  bray  as  the  one  unmusical  sound  in 
nature.  The  son  of  that  S.  T.  C.  who  had  the  courage  to 
pen  civil  things  of  the  Ass,  in  poetry  too,  himself  had  the 
courage  to  avow  that  to  him  the  sound  of  braying  had 
"  something  joyous  in  it " — and  he  cited  as  far  more  dis- 
cordant noises,  the  caterwauling  of  a  cat,  the  squeak  of  a  pig 
being  ringed,  the  nocturnal  dialogue  of  two  chained  dogs 
howling  responsive,  the  roaring  of  a  spoiled  boy,  and,  at 
some  times,  the  crowing  of  a  cock, — than  which  nothing,  says 
Hartley,  can  be  more  annoying  to  an  invalid  just  dropping 
into  a  doze.  Christopher  North  moots  the  question  which  is 
the  more  musical  of  the  two,  the  gabble  of  a  gander,  or  the 
braying  of  a  jackass.  And  he  quotes  approvingly  the  remarks 
(at  one  with  Hartley  Coleridge's)  of  the  American  author  of 
A  Year  in  Spain,  who  says  of  the  ass's  bray  (as  favourably 
contradistinguished  from  the  mule's)  that  it  "  has  something 
hearty  and  whole-souled  about  it.  Jack  begins  his  bray  with 
a  modest  whistle,  rising  gradually  to  the  top  of  his  powers, 
like  the  progressive  eloquence  of  a  well-adjusted  oration,  and 
then,  as  gradually  declining  to  a  natural  conclusion."  Again, 
is  the  chatter  of  monkeys  more  musical  than  the  bray  of  the 
ass  ?  Pope  couples  the  two  discords  in  the  Dunciadi  where 
the  goddess  of  Dulness  promises  three  cat-calls  to  the  dunce- 
poetaster  "  whose  chattering  shames  the  monkey  tribe,"  and 
a  drum  to  him  whose 

"  hoarse  heroic  bass 
Drowns  the  loud  clarion  of  the  braying  ass." 

Forthwith,  of  course,  a  thousand  tongues  are  heard  in  one 


BRAYING  BIPEDS.  167 

Orpheus,"  to  whose  strains  the  beasts  of  the  field 
were   eager   listeners.      A    Galloway   farmer  was 


loud  din,  and  monkey-mimics  rush  discordant  in  ;  'tis  chat- 
tering, grinning,  mouthing,  jabbering  all ;  anon  sound  forth 
the  brayers,  and  the  welkin  rend.     Loud 

"swells  each  windpipe  ;  ass  intones  to  ass, 
Harmonious  twang  ;  " 

but  one  pre-eminent  (sonorous  Blackmore's  strain) : 

"Walls,  steeples,  skies  bray  back  to  him  again. 
In  Tot' nam  fields,  the  brethren,  with  amaze, 
Prick  all  their  ears  up,  and  forget  to  graze  ;  .  .  . 
All  hail  him  victor  in  both  gifts  of  song, 
Who  sings  so  loudly,  and  who  sings  so  long." 

Bipeds  are  Pope's  game.  Like  the  two  aldermen  in  Cervantes 
who  challenge  each  other  to  a  braying  match.  "  In  braying, 
I  yield  to  none — no,  not  to  asses  themselves,"  quoth  one  of 
the  worshipful  dual ; — "  We  shall  soon  see  that,"  exclaims  the 
other,  "  go  you  that  way,  and  I  this,  and  let  us  walk  round 
the  mountain,  and  you  shall  bray,  and  I  will  bray  ;  and  the 
ass,"  which,  like  Saul,  they  were  in  search  of,  "  will  certainly 
hear  us  and  answer  us,  if  he  remains  in  these  parts."  Agreed. 
Each  alderman  brays,  and  each  comes  running  in  haste  to 
the  other,  not  doubting  but  the  ass  is  found.  Each  warmly 
compliments  the  other  on  there  being,  really,  no  vocal  dif- 
ference between  him  and  an  ass.  The  result  is  unhappy  for 
the  aldermen,  and  involves  calamitous  issues  for  the  town  of 
Bray,  as  may  be  read  in  the  twenty-fifth  chapter  of  the  second 
part  of  Don  Quixote.  In  an  after  chapter  we,  with  the  Knight 
of  La  Mancha,  light  on  a  troop  with  a  banner  or  pennant  of 
white  satin,  "  on  which  an  ass  was  painted  to  the  life,  of  the 
small  Sardinian  breed,  with  its  head  raised,  its  mouth  open, 
and  over  it,  written  in  large  characters, 


168  SANCHO    PANZA'S  DAPPLE. 

awakened    by    music   one    June    morning,  before 
sunrise  ;  looking  out,  he  saw  no  one,  but-  at  the 


"The  bailiffs  twain 
Bray'd  not  in  vain." 

Sancho  Panza  has  a  special  endowment  that  way.  "  Putting 
his  hands  to  his  nostrils,  he  began  to  bray  so  strenuously  that 
the  adjacent  valleys  resounded  again," — and  got  well  cudgelled 
for  his  pains,  like  the  ass  in  the  fable  who'emulated  the  lion's 
roar.  Much  earlier  in  the  history  it  had  chanced  that  Don 
Quixote's  steed,  Rosinante,  and  Sancho's  ass,  Dapple,  set  up 
their  voices  together,  which  both  knight  and  squire  regarded 
as  a  good  omen.  But  the  braying  of  Dapple  so  outdid  the 
neighing  of  the  steed,  that  Sancho  piqued  himself  on  his  good 
fortune  promising  to  exceed  his  master's.  On  a  later  occasion, 
Sancho,  all  but  buried  alive  in  a  cavern,  appeals  to  Dapple's 
voice  to  confirm  a  certain  affirmation  he  is  making.  "  Now 
it  would  seem  the  ass  understood  what  Sancho  said,  and 
willing  to  add  his  testimony,  at  that  instant  began  to  bray  so 
lustily  that  the  whole  cave  resounded.  '  A  credible  witness !' 
quoth  Don  Quixote  ;  'that  bray  I  know  as  well  as  if  I  myself 
brought  it  forth,' "  etc.  The  Don  had  as  nice  an  ear,  nearly,  for 
asinine  accents,  as  the  cure  commemorated  by  M.  Philare'te 
Chasles  in  his  Etudes  sur  FAllemagne,  who,  when  "  l'ane 
releve  la  tete  et  se  met  a  braire  avec  le  plus  majesteaux 
desespoir"  at  being  offered  a  book  for  a  thistle,  explained, 
"  C'est  sa  maniere  de  prononcer  la  voyelle  A  ;  [the  cure'  was 
teaching  asses  their  alphabet ;]  il  n'en  est  encore  qu'  a  cette 
lettre  de  l'alphabet,  et  vous  voyez  qu'il  a  prononce'  a  l'alle- 
mande,  avec  un  accent  circonflexe." 

The  proverbial  reputation,  it  has  been  said,  of  a  useful 
quadruped  does  not  come  of  having  a  hoarse  voice  or  a  bad 
ear  for  music,  but  because  the  creature  brays  as  if  it  thought 
the  sound  should  satisfy  all  lovers  of  harmony.     Historically 


HISTORICAL  ECHOES  OF  BRAY.  169 

corner  of  a  grass-field  he  saw  his  cattle,  and  young 
colts,  and  fillies,  huddled  together,    and    looking 


even,  the  bray,  as  well  as  the  creature  itself,  has  been  found 
useful,  now  and  then.  Herodotus  tells  us  of  a  vast  army 
of  Scythians  put  to  flight  in  a  panic  terror  by  the  braying  of 
an  ass  ;  as  in  the  case  of  La  Fontaine's  fable,  where  the  lion, 
out  hunting,  avails  himself  of  la  voix  de  Stcntor  de  Fane,  and 
finds  it  very  available  indeed.  Wild  boars  and  deer  are  the 
prey. 

"  Le  lion  le  posta,  le  couvrit  de  ramee, 
Lui  commanda  de  braire,  assurd  qua  ce  son 
Les  moins  intimides  fuiraient  de  leur  maison. 
Leur  troupe  n'etait  pas  encore  accoutumee 

A  la  tempete  de  sa  voix  ; 
L'air  en  retentissait  d'un  bruit  epouvantable  : 
La  frayeur  saississait  les  hotes  de  ces  bois  ; 
Tous  fuyaient,  tous  tombaient  au  piege  inevitable 
Ou  les  attendait  le  lion." 

There  is  a  story  in  Pausanias  of  a  plot  for  betraying  a  city 
discovered  by  the  braying  of  an  ass.  Plutarch  relates  the 
joyous  acceptance  of  that  clamour  by  Cams  Marius  on  a 
certain  occasion,  as  a  felicitous  omen — for  "  the  animal,  with 
a  vivacity  uncommon  to  its  species,  fixed  its  eyes  steadily  on 
Marius,  and  then  brayed  aloud."  The  late  Sir  Fowell  Buxton 
seems  to  have  mainly  ascribed  his  preservation  from  ship- 
wreck off  the  coast  of  Calais,  in  181 7,  to  the  braying  of  an 
ass,  which  warned  the  crew  by  night  of  their  too  near  approach 
to  land.  Remembering  the  result  of  that  sonorous  outburst, 
he  might  have  half  inclined  to  favour  the  favouritism  of  that 
old  writer  who,  within  the  last  decade  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, published  a  tract  (noticed  by  Mr.  Collier  in  his  Poetical 
Decameron,  and  by  Charles  Lamb  in  Eliana)  which  has  for 
title  as  well  as  subject-matter  "  The  Nobleness  of  the  Ass" — 
whose  most  singular  and  delightful  gift  is  therein  held  to 


170  ASININE  HARMONICS. 

intently  down  into  what  he  knew  was  an  old  quarry. 
So,  putting  on  his  clothes,  he  walked  across  the 


be  his  voice,  the  "  goodly,  sweet,  and  continuous  brayings  " 
of  which  "  forme  a  melodious  and  proportionable  kinde  of 
musicke."  "  Nor  thinke  I,"  the  tract-writer  adds,  "  that  any 
of  our  immoderate  musitians  can  deny  but  that  their  [asses] 
song  is  full  of  exceeding  pleasure  to  be  heard  :  because 
therein  is  to  be  discerned  both  concord,  discord,  singing  in 
the  meane,  the  beginning  to  sing  in  large  compasse,  then 
following  into  rise  and  fall,  the  halfe-note,  whole  note,  mu- 
sicke of  five  voices,  firme  singing  by  four  voices,  three  to- 
gether, or  one  voice  and  a  halfe.  Then  their  variable  con- 
trarieties among  them,  when  one  delivers  forth  a  long  tenor 
or  a  short,  the  pausing  for  time,  breathing  in  measure, 
breaking  the  minim  or  very  least  moment  of  time.  Last 
of  all,  to  heare  the  musicke  of  five  or  six  voices  chaunged 
to  so  many  of  asses  is  amongst  them  to  heare  a  song  of 
world  without  end."  There  is  no  accounting  for  ears,  as 
Elia  observes,  or  for  that  laudable  enthusiasm  with  which  an 
author  is  tempted  to  invest  a  favourite  subject  with  the  most 
incompatible  perfections.  Elia  would  otherwise,  for  his  own 
taste,  have  been  disposed  rather  to  class  these  "extraordinary 
musicians  "  with  those  imagined  by  Jeremy  Collier  (Essays, 
1698,  part  ii.,  on  Music),  where  after  describing  the  inspiriting 
effects  of  martial  music  in  a  battle,  he  hazards  an  ingenious 
conjecture,  whether  a  sort  of  anti-music  might  not  be  in- 
vented, which  should  have  the  quite  contrary  effect  of 
"  sinking  the  spirits,  shaking  the  nerves,  curdling  the  blood, 
and  inspiring  despair  and  cowardness  and  consternation." 
Old  Jeremy  thinks  it  probable  that  the  warbling  of  cats  and 
screech-owls,  together  with  a  mixture  of  the  howling  of  dogs, 
not  to  forget  the  roaring  of  lions,  judiciously  imitated  and 
compounded,  might  go  a  great  way  in  this  invention.     Lamb 


PANIC  AT  PEALING  BRAY.  171 

field,  everything  but  that  strange  wild  melody,  still 
and  silent  in  this  the  "sweet  hour  of  prime."     As 


allows  the  dose  to  be  pretty  potent,  and  skilfully  enough  pre- 
pared. "  But  what  shall  we  say  to  the  Ass  of  Silenus,  who, 
if  we  may  trust  to  classic  lore,  by  his  own  proper  sounds, 
without  thanks  to  cat  or  screech-owl,  dismayed  and  put  to 
rout  a  whole  army  of  giants  ?  Here  was  anti-music  with  a 
vengeance  ;  a  whole  Pan-dis-harmonicon  in  a  single  lung  of 
leather  !  "  The  sheep  in  Cowper's  fable  hesitate  between  the 
terrors  of  huntsman's  horn  and  ass's  bray,  as  to  which  is  the 
most  terrifying — sounds  that  seem  by  tongues  of  demons 
uttered,  from  whatever  lungs  ;  "be  it  D apple's  bray,  or  be  it 
not,  or  be  it  whose  it  may."  As  the  lion  has  it,  in  yet 
another  fable  of  La  Fontaine's,  "  L'ane  effraiera  les  gens,  nous 
servant  de  trompette."  Thomson  closes  a  satirical  poem 
with  this  simile  : — 

"  So  when  an  ass  with  sluggish  front  appears, 
The  horses  start,  and  prick  their  quivering  ears  ; 
But  soon  as  e'er  the  sage  is  heard  to  bray, 
The  fields  all  thunder,  and  they  bound  away." 

Very  effectively  indeed  in  Wordsworth's  poem  does  Peter 
Bell's  ass  to  all  the  echoes,  south  and  north,  and  east  and 
west,  send  pealing  forth  a  long  and  clamorous  bray  :  once 
and  again  that  devoted  animal  is  heard  to  lengthen  out  most 
ruefully  a  deep-drawn  shout, — 

"The  hard  dry  see-saw  of  his  horrible  bray." 

That  is  surely  a  very  graphic  line.  Coleridge  must  have  ad- 
mired it,  though  in  the  verses  for  which  in  his  younger  days 
he  got  so  much  laughed  at  he  expressed  a  longing  to  take  a 
Young  Ass  with  him,  in  the  Dell  of  Peace  and  mild  Equality 
to  dwell :— 


172  ASS  AND  NIGHTINGALE. 

he  got  nearer  the  "beasts,"  the  sound  grew  louder; 
the  colts  with  their  long  manes,  and  the  nowt  with 


1 '  Yea,  and  more  musically  sweet  to  me 
Thy  dissonant  harsh  bray  of  joy  would  be, 
Than  warbled  melodies  that  soothe  to  rest 
The  aching  of  pale  Fashion's  vacant  breast." 

But  the  then  pantisocratic  poet  does,  at  any  rate,  allow  the 
bray  to  be  harsh  and  dissonant.  "  Speak  with  a  moderate 
tone,"  the  Koran  bids  the  faithful ;  "  for  the  most  ungrateful 
of  all  voices  is  the  voice  of  asses."  Bishop  Coplestone,  who 
deprecates  some  of  the  tones  of  the  Flemish  as  "  hideous," 
compares  them  to  "that  laborious  effort  which  an  ass  makes 
towards  the  end  of  his  braying."  Dumeril  the  entomologist 
compares  the  acute  or  creaking  sound  emitted  under  alarm 
15y  the  Capricorn  tribes  (Lamza,  Cerambyx,  etc.)  to  the  bray- 
ing of  an  ass.  A  rough-and-ready  contemporary  of  S.  T.  C.'s 
was  more  dubiously  complimentary  in  his  address  to  the 
creature  : — 

"  Some  people  think  thy  tones  are  rather  coarse  ; 
Even  love-sick  tones  addressed  to  lady  asses — 
Octaves,  indeed,  of  wondrous  force  ; 
And  yet  thy  voice  full  many  a  voice  surpasses." 

Easy  enough  to  convince  the  asinine  vocalist  of  that.  On  the 
night  of  Mr.  Lowell's  stay  at  the  albergo  just  below  the  village 
of  Colonna,  at  his  first  visit  to  Rome,  a  nightingale  sang  exqui- 
sitely from  a  full-blossomed  elder-bush  on  the  edge  of  a  brook 
just  across  the  road.  And  as  Nature,  according  to  the  racy 
penman  of  the  Biglow  Papers,  "  understands  thoroughly  the 
value  of  contrasts,"  so  it  chanced  that  a  donkey  from  a  shed 
hard  by,  hitched  and  hesitated  and  agonized  through  his  bray, 
so  that  his  listeners  might  be  conscious  at  once  of  the  positive 
and  negative  poles  of  song.  "  It  was  pleasant  to  see  with 
what  undoubting  enthusiasm  he  went  through  his  solo,  and 
vindicated  Providence  from  the  imputation  of  weakness  in 


COLTS  AND  COWS  ALL  EAR.  173 

their  wondering  stare,  took  no  notice  of  him,  strain- 
ing their  necks  forward  entranced.  There,  in  the 
old  quarry,  the  young  sun  "  glintin  "  on  his  face, 
and  resting  on  his  pack,  which  had  been  his  pillow, 
was  Wandering  Willie,  playing  and  singing  like  an 
angel.  When  reproved  for  wasting  his  health  and 
time  by  the  prosaic  farmer,  the  poor  fellow  said, 
"Me  and  this  quarry  are  lang  acquent,  and  I've 
mair  pleasure  in  pipin'  to  thae  daft  cowts,  than 
if  the  best  leddies  in  the  land  were  figurin'  awa' 
afore  me."  Shakspeare's  Lorenzo  bids  us  but  note 
a  wild  and  wanton  herd,  or  race  of  youthful  and 
unhandled  colts, 

"  Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing,  and  neighing  loud, 
Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood  : 
If  they  but  hear  perchance  a  trumpet  sound, 
Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears, 

making  such  trifles  as  the  nightingale  yonder.  '  Give  ear,  O 
heaven  and  earth  ! '  he  seemed  to  say,  '  nor  dream  that  good, 
sound  common  sense  is  extinct  or  out  of  fashion  as  long  as  / 
live.'"  Mr.  Lowell  supposes  Nature  made  the  donkey  half 
abstractedly,  while  she  was  feeling  her  way  up  to  her  ideal  in 
the  horse,  and  that  his  bray  is  in  like  manner  an  experimental 
sketch  for  the  neigh  of  the  finished  animal. 

But  this  unconscionably  long  foot-note  (long  as  the  ears  of 
its  subject  or  object)  is  an  unconscionably  wide  digression 
from,  in  Wolcot's  diction, 

"Job's  war-horse  snorting  flame, 
To  that  slow  brute  whom  few  or  none  revere, 
Famed  for  his  fine  bass  voice  and  length  of  ear." 


174      LISTENERS  EQUINE  AND  BOVINE. 

You  shall  perceive  them  make  a  mutual  stand, 
Their  savage  eyes  turn'd  to  a  modest  gaze 
By  the  sweet  power  of  music." 

Therefore,  he  goes  on  to  say,  the  poets  feigned 
1  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones,  and  floods ;  since 
nought  so  stockish,  hard,  and  full  of  rage,  but 
music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature.  The 
complaint  of  a  modern  Amphion  is,  that  in  such  a 
brassy  age  he  cannot  move  a  thistle  ;  that  the  very 
sparrows  in  the  hedge  scarce  answer  to  his  whistle  ; 

"  Or  at  the  most,  when  three-parts  sick  with  strumming 
and  with  scraping, 
A  jackass  heehaws  from  the  rick,  the  passive  oxen 
gaping." 

Happier  in  his  experience  is  Wordsworth's 
Danish  boy,  who  suits  the  melody  of  his  harp  to 
"  words  of  a  forgotten  tongue,"  and  is  the  darling 
and  the  joy  of  flocks  upon  the  neighbouring  hill : 

"  And  often,  when  no  cause  appears, 
The  mountain  ponies  prick  their  ears, 

They  hear  the  Danish  Boy, 

While  in  the  dell  he  sings  alone 
Beside  the  tree  and  corner-stone." 

Addison  professes  not  to  have  heard  that  any  of 
the  performers  at  the  opera  he  loved  to  write  down 
pretended  to  equal  the  Pied  Piper  who  (see  Mr. 
Browning's  poem)  "  made  all  the  mice  of  a  great 
town  in  Germany  follow  his  music,  and  by  that 
means  cleared  the  place  of  those  little   noxious 


RATS,  MICE,  AND  SUCH  SMALL  DEER.    175 

animals."  *  Madame  Polko  tells  us  of  Mendelssohn 
playing  the  Krattzcr  with  Rietz  one  night  at 
Berlin,  and  how  all  present  were  reverentially 
listening,  when  a  little  mouse  glided  out  of  a  corner, 
and  sat  in  the  midst  of  the  circle  motionless,  as 
if  spell-bound.  She  has  no  doubt  that  it  would 
have  so  remained  till  the  playing  ceased,  had  not 
one  of  the  ladies  present  made  an  abrupt  gesture 
of  horror,  and  caused  a  commotion  which  "  eventu- 
ated "  in  the  flight  of  the  mouse. 

Stedman's  Expedition  to  Surinam  includes  a 
description  of  certain  "charming"  negresses,  whose 
art  avails  to  conjure  down  from  the  trees  a  variety 
of  serpents,  making  them  wreath  about  the  arms, 
neck,  and  breast  of  the  ebon  charmer,  whose  charm 
lies  in  her  voice.  In  eastern  India  it  is,  or  was, 
common  for  skilled  natives  to  rid  the  houses  of  the 
most  venemous  snakes,  by  charming  them  out  of 
their  holes  with  the  sound  of  a  flute.f     Sir  William 

*  Swift  has  this  sample  of  wit  in  his  Art  of  Punning : 
"  Why  are  rats  and  mice  so  much  afraid  of  bass-viols  and 
fiddles  ?"     "  Because  they  are  strung  with  catgut" 

t  Isaac  Disraeli  records  as  a  " fact,"  however  the  reader 
may  account  it  a  trial  of  credulity,  the  story  of  an  officer  im- 
prisoned in  the  Bastile,  whose  lute  brought  mice  frisking  out 
of  their  holes,  and  spiders  descending  from  the  webs,  "petri- 
fying him  with  astonishment,"  as  they  formed  a  large  and 
most  attentive  circle  around  the  player.  Now  he  disliked 
vermin.     So,  finding  that  his  lute  was  an  infallible  attraction, 


176  SNAKE   CHARMING. 

Jones  quotes  a  learned  Hindu  who  told  him  that  he 
had  frequently  seen  the  most  venomous  and  malig- 
nant snakes*  leave  their  holes  upon  hearing  tunes 

he  arranged  with  the  keeper  to  have  a  cat  ready  in  a  cage, 
and  at  a  signal  given  the  cat  was  "  let  loose  at  the  very  in- 
stant when  the  little  hairy  people  were  most  entranced  by  the 
Orphean  skill"  of  the  lutist. 

Pelisson,  when  in  the  Bastile,  used,  as  the  Abbe  d'Olivet 
relates  of  him,  to  amuse  himself  by  summoning  by  sound  of 
bagpipe  (played  by  his  valet)  a  spider,  for  which  he  became 
purveyor-in-ordinary  of  flies  ;  these  the  spider  would  seize 
even  on  the  prisoner's  knee,  at  the  sound  of  the  pipes. 

The  Curiosities  of  Literature  omit  not  "  a  modern  travel- 
ler's" assurance  that,  in  the  island  of  Madeira,  he  had  often 
seen  the  lizards  attracted  by  the  notes  of  music,  and  had  re- 
peatedly so  attracted  them  himself.  When  the  negroes  catch 
them,  for  food,  they  are  said  to  accompany  the  chase  by 
whistling  some  tune,  which  has  always  the  effect  of  drawing 
great  numbers  to  them. 

*  Chateaubriand  tells  us  of  his  sojourn  among  the  prairies 
near  the  banks  of  the  Genessee,  "  It  was  there  I  first  met  with 
that  snake  with  rattles,  which  allows  itself  to  be  fascinated  by 
the  sound  of  a  flute.  The  Greeks  would  have  transformed  my 
Canadian  into  Orpheus,  his  flute  into  a  lyre,  the  rattlesnake 
into  Cerberus,  or  perhaps  Eurydice." 

"  Orpheus  could  lead  the  savage  race  ; 
And  trees  uprooted  left  their  place 
Sequacious  of  his  lyre," 

says  Dryden.  Less  reverent  is  Swift's  rationale  of  the  man 
and  his  method  : — 

•'  Orpheus,  a  one-eyed  blearing  Thracian, 

The  crowder  of  that  barbarous  nation, 

Was  ballad-singer  by  vocation," 

whose  strains  brought  gaping  crowds  from  all  quarters. 


FLUTE  AND  LUTE.  i77 

on  a  flute,  which  instrument,  as  he  supposed,  gave 

them  peculiar  delight, — an  instrument,  by  the  way, 

objected   to  by   Apollonius,  on   the   score   of  its 

incompetence   to  enrich   and   beautify;   and   that 

objection,  also  by  the  way,  Mrs.  Browning,   who 

cites    it    from    Philostratus,   considers   sufficiently 

confuted  by  the  history  of  music  in  our  day ;  and 

the  poetess  herself,  in  one  of  the  Casa  Guidi  poems, 

has  this  pertinent  passage  of  panegyric  : 

'"Even  Apollonius  might  commend  this  flute, 
The  music,  winding  through  the  stops,  upsprings 
To  make  the  player  very  rich." 

"  From  hence  came  all  those  monstrous  stories, 
That  to  his  lays  wild  beasts  danced  borees  ; 
That  after  him,  where'er  he  rambled, 
The  lion  ramp'd  and  the  bear  gamboll'd, 
And  rocks  and  caves  (their  houses)  ambled  : 
For  sure  the  monster  mob  includes 
All  beasts,  stones,  stocks,  in  solitudes." 

Delightful  it  must  have  been  to  the  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's 
thus  to  deal  a  double-handed  blow  at  the  monster  mob,  and 
at  the  poetical  licence  of  his  brother  bards.  Small  sympathy 
had  be  with  a  Shakspeare's  fancy  of  Orpheus'  lute  being  strung 
with  poets'  sinews, 

"  Whose  golden  touch  could  soften  steel  and  stones, 
Make  tigers  tame,  and  huge  leviathans 
Forsake  unsounded  deeps  to  dance  on  sands." 

Or  with  a  Thomson's  picture  of  the  herds  and  flocks  playing 
secure  under  the  protection-warrant  of  prevailing  music,  by 
which  the  "horrid  heart "  of  the  "glaring  lion,"  emergent  from 
the  gloomy  wood,  was  "  meekened," 


"  and  he  joined  his  sullen  joy  ; 
For  music  held  the  whole  in  perfect  peace." 


12 


178  FLUTE  PLAYERS, 

Aristotle  affirms  that  at  the  close  of  the  Persian 
war  there  was  scarcely  a  single  free-born  Athenian 
unacquainted  with  the  flute — the  use  of  this  instru- 
ment being  afterwards  discontinued,  and  indeed 
proscribed  in  the  education  of  freemen,  from  the 
notion,  says  a  modern  historian  of  ancient  Athens, 
that  it  was  not  capable  of  music  sufficiently  ele- 
vated and  intellectual .*  But  it  wants  not  for  en- 
thusiastic admirers.  Sainte-Beuve  says,  La  flute  f 
est  un  instrument  touchant  qui  va   au   coeur  plus 

*  An  anecdote  in  Gellius,  lib.  xv.,  c.  17,  refers  the  date  ol 
the  disuse   of  this  instrument  to  the  age  of  Pericles,    and 
during  the  boyhood  of  Alcibiades.     "  It  was  only  succeeded 
by  melodies  more  effeminate  and  luxurious,"  as  we  read  in . 
Athens  :  its  Rise  a?id  Fall. 

It  was  Alcibiades,  according  to  Plutarch,  who  first  gave 
occasion  to  the  Athenians  of  the  higher  rank  wholly  to 
abandon  the  use  of  flutes — with  this  reason  assigned  :  "  the 
illiberal  air  which  attended  such  performers,  and  the  unmanly 
disfigurement  of  face  and  expression  which  this  piping-work 
produced." 

The  Shepherd  of  the  Nodes  intimates  pretty  clearly  his 
estimate  of  the  instrument  when  he  compares  the  mode  of 
speaking  with  some  people  to  it.  "  Their  tone  is  gey  an* 
musical,  but  wants  vareeity,  and  though  sweetish,  is  wersh, 
like  the  tone  o'  the  floot.  Then  what  puffin'  an'  spittin'  o' 
wind  and  water  !  Mercy  on  us  !  ye  canna  hear  the  tune  for 
the  splutter,  unless  ye  gang  into  anither  room."  But  -this 
refers  to  a  callant  learning  to  play. 

t  One  of  Madame  de  Remusat's  romans  is  expressly  entitled 
La  Flute  j  for  thereby  hangs  the  tale.  Here  is  a  snatch,  or 
broken  echo  of  it :  "  Un  jour,  des  airs  languedociens  bien 


CLASSICAL  AND  ROMANTIC.  179 

quaucun  autre.  Coleridge's  Edmund,  in  a  rather 
namby-pamby  style, 

"  Breathes  in  his  flute  sad  airs,  so  wild  and  slow, 
That  his  own  cheek  is  wet  with  quiet  tears." 

The  venerated  author  of  Memoirs  of  Port  Royal 

choisis  arrachent  des  larmes  a  Paieule  et  vont  reveiller 
d'attendrissants  souvenirs  dans  sa  memoire  affaiblie."  In 
Dryden's  Song  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  "  the  soft  complaining 
flute,  in  dying  notes,  discovers  the  woes  of  hopeless  lovers/ 
Wordsworth's  Ruth,  when  that  oaten  pipe  of  hers  is  mute,  or 
thrown  away,  then 

"with  a  flute 
.    Her  loneliness  she  cheers, : 

This  flute,  made  of  a  hemlock  stalk, 
At  evening  in  his  homeward  walk 
The  Quantock  woodman  hears." 

Nor  is  the  flute  of  higher  workmanship  without  commenda- 
tory notice  in  Wordsworth's  miscellaneous  sonnets, — one  of 
which  thus  apostrophizes  a  clerical  Cambridge  friend,  then 
visiting  the  lakes  : 

"  O  friend  !  thy  flute  has  breathed  a  harmony 
Softly  resounded  through  this  rocky  glade  ; 
Such  strains  of  rapture  as  the  Genius  played 
In  his  still  haunts  on  Bagdad's  summit  high  ; 
He  who  stood  visible  to  Mirza's  eye," — 

referring  to  the  Vision  of  Mirza,  in  the  Spectator. 

Epaminondas  is  storied  among  the  most  eminent  of  flute 
players,  who  had  some  expression  and  execution'  to  show 
forth.  Nicholas  Saunderson,  the  blind  mathematician,  was 
great  on  this  instrument.  It  is  rather  piquant  to  read  among 
the  dismal  entries  of  Wolfe  Tone's  diary,  all  at  sea,  and 
awaiting  the  projected  invasion  of  Ireland  by  the  Dutch,  such 
interludes  as  this  :  "Admiral  de  Winter  and  I  endeavour  to 


i8g  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT 

retained  a  lively  remembrance  of  her  first  sight  of 
William  Priestley,  as  a  long-haired  youth,  "  playing 


pass  away  the  time  playing  the  flute,  which  he  does  very 
well ;  we  have  some  good  duets."  De  Winter  was  soon  to  sit 
down  on  the  evening  of  the  hard-fought  day  of  Camperdown, 
in  the  cabin  of  Admiral  Duncan,  and  with  him  to  play,  not 
the  flute,  but  whist,  and  by  him  to  be  beaten,  and  then  and 
there  to  remark,  with  Dutch  placidity,  but  with  some  graceful 
humour,  that  it  was  rather  hard  to  be  beaten  twice  in  one  day 
by  the  same  opponent. 

Frederick  the  Great  is  notable  among  flute-players.  The 
first  Earl  of  Malmesbury  credits  him  with  masterly  perform- 
ance on  it.  "  So  afraid  is  he  of  playing  false,  that  when  he 
is  to  try  some  new  piece  of  music,  he  shuts  himself  up  some 
hours  beforehand  in  his  closet  to  practise  it,  and  even  then 
when  he  begins  it  with  the  accompaniments  he  always  trem- 
bles." He  had  a  fine  collection  of  flutes,  and  was  very  nice 
in  the  keeping  of  them,  employing  a  man  exclusively  to  look 
after  them,  "  and  preserve  them  dry  or  moist,  as  the  season 
requires."  All  these  instruments,  it  seems,  were  made  by  the 
same  man,  who  received  a  hundred  ducats  for  each  flute,  and 
who  was  scrupulously  paid  in  good  coin,  when  false  money 
was  distributed  to  everybody  else.  Mr.  Carlyle  affords  us 
more  than  one  glimpse  of  the  Crown  Prince  retiring  into  some 
glade  of  the  thickets,  to  hold  a  little  "  Flute-Hautbois  Concert 
with  his  musical  comrades,  while  the  sows  were  getting 
baited."  That  "  excellent  Drill-Sergeant"  Rentzel,  is  said  to 
have  awaked  "  the  musical  faculty  in  the  little  boy,"  by  his 
own  "beautiful  playing"  on  the  flute.  "  Fritz  is  a  Querpfeifer 
unci  Poet"  not  a  soldier,  would  his  indignant  father  growl, 
impatient  of  such  effeminate  ways  :  Querpfeife,  that  is  (Mr. 
Carlyle  explains)  simply  "  German  flute,"  Cross-pipe,  or  fife 
of  any  kind,  for  we  English  have  thriftily  made  two  useful 


AND  OTHER  EMINENT  HANDS.  181 

on  the  flute,  with  a  beautiful  little  goat  standing 
before  him,  with  its  fore-feet  on  his  knees."     Many 


words  out  of  Deutsch  root ;  Cross-pipe  being  held  across  the 
mouth,  horizontally.  Frederick  William  denied  Fritz  his  very- 
flute,  "most  innocent  ' Princess' "  as  he  used  to  call  it,  from 
the  time  he  came  to  Custrin ;  but  by  degrees  the  Prince  pri- 
vately got  his  "  Princess"  back,  and  consorted  much  with  her ; 
"  wailed  forth,  in  beautiful  adagios,"  emotions  for  which  he 
then  had  no  other  utterance.  Frederick  was  in  his  prime 
when  Voltaire  declared  that  he  played  the  flute  like  Telema- 
chus ;  the  court  on  dii  was  that  the  King  played  it  to  per- 
fection; which  did  not  prevent  Diderot  from  saying,  "  Cest 
grand  dommage  que  l'embouchure  de  cette  belle  flute  soit 
gatde  par  quelques  grains  de  sable  de  Brandebourg." 

Another  kind  of  stoppage  altogether  obstructed  the  ventage 
of  the  flute  presented  as  a  love-gift  to  the  celebrated  Susanna, 
Countess  of  Eglintoune — for  in  her  days,  though  she  lived  to 
walk  as  a  peeress  at  the  coronation  of  George  III.,  the  flute 
would  seem  to  have  been  a  lady's  instrument,  while  as  yet  the 
pianoforte  was  not.  On  attempting  to  blow  the  presentation 
flute,  blooming  Susanna  Kennedy  (six  feet  high,  by  the  way,) 
found  that  something  obstructed  the  sound,  and  this  turned 
out  to  be  a  copy  of  verses,  expressing  envy  of  the  happy  pipe 
thus  conversant  by  gentle  pressure  with  the  lady's  lips. 

In  the  earlier  chapters  of  Benvenuto  Cellini's  Life,  the  flute 
plays  a  prominent  part ;  and  great  was  the  lad's  detestation 
of  the  instrument  his  father  constrained  him  to  learn,  and  im- 
portuned him  to  practise  unremittingly.  To  such  a  degree, 
writes  the  autobiographer,  "  did  I  hate  that  abominable  flute, 
that  I  thought  myself  in  a  sort  of  paradise  during  my  stay  in 
Pisa,  where  I  never  once  played  upon  that  instrument."  Yet 
he  became  a  skilled  and  highly  effective  performer  upon  it ; 
witness  the  rapture  of  Pope  Clement,  who  declared  that  he 


1 82  LUTHER  AND   GOLDSMITH. 

are  the  after-hours  she  records  in  her  autobiography 
as  "spent  with  William   Priestley,  and  my  little 

had  "never  been  delighted  with  more  exquisite  harmony," 
and  was  all  curiosity  to  know  how  the  services  of  "  so  great  a 
master  of  the  flute"  had  been  secured  for  the  delectation  of 
his  Holiness  at  dinner-time. 

Luther  played  the  flute  as  well  as  the  guitar.  He  was  once 
restored  from  one  of  his  comatose  fits  by  a  monk  gently 
playing  on  the  flute  an  air  that  Brother  Martin  loved.  He 
passed  the  whole  night  after  his  arrival  at  Worms  at  his 
window,  "  sometimes  breathing  the  air  of  his  hymn  upon 
his  flute."  (His  hostile  biographer,  Cochkeus,  relates  of  him, 
in  his  progress  to  the  Diet,  that  wherever  he  passed  there 
was  great  crowding,  and  that  "  Luther,  to  draw  all  eyes  upon 
him,  played  the  harp  like  another  Orpheus — a  shaved  and 
capuchined  Orpheus.") 

It  was  Oliver  Goldsmith's  way  to  blow  off  excitement 
through  his  flute  with  a  kind  of  desperate  "mechanical 
vehemence."  During  his  tour  on  the  Continent,  he  "  picked 
up  a  kind  of  mendicant  livelihood  by  the  German  flute,"  like 
young  Holberg,  in  fact,  and  like  his  own  George  Primrose 
in  fiction.  When  an  impecunious  lodger  in  Green  Arbour 
Court,  he  would  compromise  with  the  squalid  squalling  chil- 
dren of  the  colony  for  occasional  cessation  of  their  noise, 
by  giving  them  a  turn  upon  his  flute,  for  which  all  the  court 
assembled. 

Bolton  playing  the  flute  to  Miss  Sindall's  covert  listening, 
in  Mackenzie's  Man  of  the  World j  Edward,  taking  a  great 
deal  of  pains  with  it,  in  the  Wahlverwandschaften  of  Goethe, 
only  to  make  the  Captain  wish  he  would  spare  them  "  that 
eternal  flute  of  his,"  as  he  could  make  nothing  of  it ;  Dick 
Fairthorn  in  What  will  He  Do  with  It?  who,  being  the 
cleverest  boy  at  his  grammar  school,  unluckily  took  to  the 
flute,  and  unfitted  himself  for  the  present  century  ;  these,  and 


PIPING  PASTORALS.  183 

goat  ■  Pan,'  under  the  shade  of  an  old  tree  that 
grew  over  a  wild  bank,  when  he  often  played  to 
the  goat  and  to  me  on  the  flute,  and  showed  the 
goat's  fondness  for  music."  "As  sheep 3  loveth 
pyping,"  says  a  writer  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
"  therefore  shepherdes  useth  pypes  when  they  walk 
wyth  their  sheepe."  "  I  am  verily  persuaded," 
says  Dr.  John  Case,  "that  the  ploughman  and 
carter  do  not  so  much  please  themselves  with  their 
whistling  as  they  are  delightful  to  their  oxen  and 
horses." 

Sir  Walter  Scott  describes  a  huge  sheep  dog  in 
Provence,  of  a  species  which  is  trained  to  face  the 
wolf,  following  his  piping  master  with  his  ears 
pricked,  like  the  chief  critic  and  prime  judge  of  the 
performance,   at  some  tones  of  which  he  seldom 

many  like  these,  are  familiar  figures  in  story.  Of  the  flute- 
players  in  Mr.  Dickens'  books,  memory  reverts  to  Richard 
Swiveller  playing  "Away  with  Melancholy,"  in  bed,  very 
slowly,  and  very  imperfectly,  repeating  one  note  a  great  many 
times  before  he  could  find  the  next,  so  that  the  effect  was 
not  lively  ;— and  again,  to  the  so-called  "  Master,"  in  David 
Copperfield,  who  took  out  his  flute  and  blew  at  it,  until  David 
thought  he  would  gradually  blow  his  whole  being  into  the 
large  hole  at  the  top,  and  ooze  away  at  the  keys.  Coaxea 
by  an  ancient  dame  into  having  "  a  blow  at  it,"  the  Master 
puts  his  hand  underneath  the  skirts  of  his  coat,  and  brings 
out  his  flute  in  three  pieces,  which  he  screws  together,  and 
begins  to  play — making  the  most  dismal  sounds  ever  heard 
produced  by  any  means,  natural  or  artificial. 


1 84  CANINE  CRITICS. 

failed  to  intimate  disapprobation  ;*  while  the  flock, 
like   the  generality    of  an   audience,    followed   in 


*  The  dog-loving  author  oiRab  and  his  Frie?ids  has  a  story 
of  a  dog  of  his,  Wasp,  who  in  a  sequestered  country  house, 
was  set  against  an  organ-grinder,  who  would  push  his  way 
in,  demanding  money  of  the  lone  woman  in  charge.  Wasp 
made  short  work  of  the  grinder,  whom  he  took  by  the  throat 
at  once,  pulling  him  and  his  organ  down  with  a  heavy  crash, 
— the  organ  giving  a  ludicrous  sort  of  cry  of  musical  pain. 
"  Wasp,  thinking  this  was  from  some  creature  within,  left  the 
ruffian,  and  set  to  work  tooth  and  nail  on  the  box,"  which  he 
disembowelled  with  a  will.     Good  dog  ! 

George  Eliot's  Stephen  Guest  charms  Lucy  by  his  execu- 
tion of  Raphael's  great  song  in  the  Creation,  for  he  does  the 
"  heavy  beasts  "  to  perfection  ;  but  Lucy's  pet  dog  is  other- 
wise minded.  "When  a  singer  has  an  audience  of  two, 
there  is  room  for  divided  sentiments.  Minny's  mistress  was 
charmed ;  but  Minny,  who  had  intrenched  himself,  trembling, 
in  his  basket  as  soon  as  the  music  began,  found  this  thunder 
so  little  to  his  taste  that  he  leaped  out  and  scampered  under 
the  remotest  chiffoniere,  as  the  most  eligible  place  in  which 
a  small  dog  could  await  the  crack  of  doom."  And  who  that 
has  once  read  can  lightly  forget  Mr.  Charles  Reade's  account 
of  David  Dodd,  up  in  the  morning  early,  trying  to  soothe  his 
sorrowful  heart  by  playing  on  his  beloved  violin,  among  some 
trees  near  the  stable-yard ;  how  he  played  sadly,  sweetly, 
dreamingly, — bidding  the  magic  shell  tell  all  the  world  how 
lonely  he  was  ;  but  then  the  magic  shell  told  it  so  tenderly 
and  so  tunefully  that  David  soon  ceased  to  be  alone.  How 
the  first  arrival  was  on  four  legs  :  Pepper,  a  terrier  with  a 
taste  for  sounds,  who  arrived  cautiously,  though  in  a  state 
of  profound  curiosity,  and  being  too  wise  to  trust  at  once  to 
his  ears  (avenue  of  sense  by  which  we  are  so  much  ofttimes 


HOWLING  SYMPATHY.  185 

unanimous  though  silent  approbation.  In  their 
companionship  at  Naples,  Sir  Walter  always 
noticed  a  favourite  dog  of  Sir  William  Gell's,  which 
was  in  the  habit  of  howling  when  loud  music  was 
performing ;  and  Sir  William  relates  that  Scott 
would  laugh  till  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  at  the 
idea  of  the  dog  singing,  "  My  mother  bids  me  bind 
my  hair,"  by  the  tune  of  which  the  animal  seemed 
most  excited,  and  which  Sir  Walter  sometimes 
asked  to  have  repeated. 

Fairthorn's   flute    is    heard    in    Lord    Lytton's 

deceived),  first  smelt  the  musician  carefully  and  minutely  all 
round,  and  being  reassured  by  this,  next  took  up  a  position 
exactly  opposite  the  Orpheus  he  had  thus  thoroughly  snuffed, 
sat  up  high  on  his  tail,  cocked  his  nose  well  into  the  air,  and 
accompanied  the  violin  with  such  vocal  powers  as  nature  had 
bestowed  on  him.  "  Nor  did  the  sentiment  lose  anything,  in 
intensity  at  all  events,  by  the  vocalist.  If  David's  strains 
were  plaintive,  Pepper's  were  lugubrious  :  and,  what  may 
seem  extraordinary,  so  long  as  David  played  softly,  the  Cer- 
berus of  the  stable-yard  whined  musically,  and  tolerably  in 
tune  ;  but  when  he  played  loud,  or  fast,  poor  Pepper  got  ex- 
cited, and  in  his  wild  endeavours  to  equal  the  violin,  vented 
dismal  and  discordant  howls  at  unpleasantly  short  intervals." 
David  is  further  said  to  have  soon  found  that  he  could  play 
upon  Pepper  as  well  as  the  fiddle,  raising  him  and  subduing 
him  by  turns  ;  only,  like  the  ocean,  Pepper  was  not  to  be 
lulled  back  to  his  musical  ripple  quite  so  quickly  as  he 
could  be  lashed  into  howling  frenzy — showing  a  fearful 
broadside  of  ivory  teeth,  while  flinging  up  his  nose,  and  sym- 
pathizing thus  loudly. 


1 86  A  MODERN  ORPHEUS. 

Varieties  of  English  Life,  and  music  fills  the  land- 
scape as  with  a  living  presence :  the  swans  pause 
upon  the  still  lake — the  tame  doe  steals  through 
the  leafless  trees — other  forms  are  attracted — the 
music  spells  them  all  *     "  If  I  had  but  a  fiddle," 

*  On  another  occasion,  in  the  same  story,  we  have  Waife 
seated  on  a  mossy  bank,  under  a  gnarled  fantastic  thorn-tree, 
watching  a  deer  as  it  came  to  drink,  and  whistling  an  old 
mellow  tune — the  tune  of  an  old  English  border  song.  "The 
deer  lifted  its  antlers  from  the  water,  and  turned  its  large 
bright  eyes  towards  the  opposite  bank,  whence  the  note  came 
— listening  and  wistful.  As  George's  step  crushed  the  wild 
thyme  which  the  thorn-tree  shadowed, — '  Hush,'  said  Waife, 
1  and  mark  how  the  rudest  musical  sound  can  affect  the  brute 
creation.'  He  resumed  the  whistle — a  clearer,  louder,  wilder 
tune — that  of  a  lively  hunting  song.  The  deer  turned  quickly 
round — uneasy,  restless,  tossed  its  antlers,  and  bounded 
through  the  fern.  Waife  again  changed  the  key  of  his  primi- 
tive music — a  melancholy  belling  note,  like  the  belling  itself 
of  a  melancholy  hart,  but  more  modulated  into  sweetness. 
The  deer  arrested  its  flight,  and,  lured  by  the  mimic  sound, 
returned  to  the  waterside."  Waife  cannot  think  the  story 
of  Orpheus  charming  the  brutes  was  a  fable.  Often,  says 
Prior, 

M  our  seers  and  prophets  have  confess'd 

That  music's  force  can  tame  the  furious  beast ; 

Can  make  the  wolf  or  foaming  boar  restrain 

His  rage,  the  lion  drop  his  crested  mane, 

Attentive  to  the  song  ;  the  lynx  forget 

His  wrath  to  man,  and  lick  the  minstrel's  feet " 

In  the  fact  of  the  influence  of  music  in  forming  the  Grecian 
character,  whether  we  consider  the  literature,  the  refinement, 
the  hilarity,  the  religious  enthusiasm,  or  the  martial  energy 
that  were  its  chief  component  elements,  a  critic  claims  to  see 


MUSICAL  BRUTE-TAMERS.  187 

says  Gentleman  Waife,    "  I   would   undertake  to 
make   friends   with    that    reserved    and    unsocial 


the  explanation  of  the  beautiful  fables  of  Orpheus  and  Am- 
phion  ;  the  latter,  no  doubt,  warbling  his  ballads  to  the  ears 
of  the  masons  who  built  the  Theban  walls  ;  while  it  is  sug- 
gested as  probable  that  the  wild  beasts  which  flocked  round 
the  tuneful  husband  of  Euridice,  were  the  rude  aborigines 
of  the  land,  reduced  by  music  to  civilization  and  concord. 

"  De  la  sont  nds  ces  bruits  recus  dans  l'univers, 
Qu'aux  accents  dont  Orphee  emplit  les  monts  de  Thrace 
Les  tigres  amollis  d^pouillaient  leur  audace  : 
Qu'aux  accords  d'Amphion  les  pierres  se  mouvaient, 
Et  sur  les  murs  th^bains  en  ordre  s'elevaient. 
L'harmonie  en  naissant  produisit  ces  miracles." 

Music  has  charms,  not  only  as  Congreve's  Almeria  says, 
to  soothe  a  savage  breast,  but  to  soften  rocks,  or  bend  a 
knotted  oak ;  and  she  has  read  that  things  inanimate  have 
moved,  and,  as  with  living  souls,  have  been  informed  by 
magic  numbers  and  persuasive  sound.  Waller  rationalizes 
much  in  the  style  of  the  modern  critic  previously  quoted, 
when  he  speaks  of  the  tactics 

"wise  bards  employ'd,  to  make 
Unpolish'd  men  their  wild  retreats  forsake ; 
Law-giving  heroes,  famed  for  taming  brutes, 
And  raising  cities  with  their  charming  lutes  ; 
For  rudest  minds  with  harmony  were  caught, 
And  civil  life  was  by  the  Muses  taught." 

The  allusion  is  a  frequent  and  favourite  one  with  Waller. 
He  sonorously  apprises  my  Lady  Carlisle  that,  of  all  the 
sacred  Muse  inspired,  Orpheus  alone  could  with  the  woods 
comply,  whose  rude  inhabitants  his  song  admired,  as  did 
Nature's  self,  in  those  that  could  not  lie.  Elsewhere,  with  a 
saving  clause  parenthesized,  if  all  those  tales  were  true  the 
bold  Greeks  tell,  he  signalized  the  wonders  wrought  by  the 
Thracian,  before  whose  feet  lay  sheep  and  lions,  fearless  and 


1 88  ORPHEUS;  AMPHIONj  ARION. 

water-rat," — on  whom  Waife's  dog,  Sir  Isaac,  had 
been  endeavouring  in  vain  to  force  his  acquaint- 


wrathless  as  they  heard  him  play.  Waller's  contemporary, 
Sir  William  Temple,  gravely  asks  what  is  become  of  the 
charms  of  music,  by  which  men  and  beasts,  fishes,  fowls,  and 
serpents,  were  so  frequently  enchanted,  and  their  very  natures 
changed.  Macaulay  makes  merry  at  Sir  William  for  putting 
the  story  of  Orpheus  between  the  Olympic  games  and  the 
battle  of  Arbela ;  as  if  we  had  exactly  the  same  reasons  for 
believing  that  Orpheus  led  beasts  with  his  lyre  which  we 
have  for  believing  that  there  were  races  at  Pisa,  or  that 
Alexander  conquered  Darius.  For,  quite  prosaically,  and 
not  with  the  poetic  licence  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's 
Arcadius,  Sir  William  inclines 

"To  think  the  tale  of  Orpheus  no  fable  ; 
'Tis  possible  he  did  enchant  the  rocks, 
And  charm  the  forest,  soften  hell  itself, 
With  his  commanding  lute." 

And  what  says  Wordsworth  of  another  old-world  worthy 

"  The  gift  to  King  Amphion 
That  walled  a  city  with  its  melody, 
Was  for  belief  no  dream  : — thy  skill,  Arion, 
Could  humanize  the  creatures  of  the  sea, 
Where  men  were  monsters.     A  last  grace  he  craves, 
Leave  for  one  chant ; — the  dulcet  sound 
Steals  from  the  deck  o'er  willing  waves, 
And  listening  dolphins  gather  round," 

by  one  of  which  his  life  is  saved.  "  I  did  once  belong,"  says 
Marryat's  old  Tom,  "to  a  small  craft  called  the  Arion,  and 
they  say  as  how  the  story  was  that  that  chap  could  make  the 
fish  follow  him  just  when  he  pleased.  I  know  that  when  we 
were  in  the  North  Sea,  the  shoals  of  seals  would  follow  the 
ship  if  you  whistled  :  but  those  brutes  have  ears — now  fish 
havn't  got  none."     But  the  minstrelsy  that  bids  "  wake,  the 


SEAL  ENTHUSIASTS.  189 

ance.     Ben   Jonson,   in    The  Poetaster,   speaks  of 

rhyming  people  to  death, 

"  as  they  do  Irish  rats 
In  drumming  tunes." 

The  Scandinavian  seal-hunter  takes  advantage 
of  the  fact  that  the  seal's  sense  of  hearing  is  so 
acute,  and  their  love  for  music  so  great,  that  a  few 
notes  from  a  flute  will  bring  scores  of  them  to  the 
surface  in  a  minute  or  two.  Mr.  Robert  Browning 
sings  of 

"  the  tune,  for  which  quails  on  the  corn-land  will  each 

leave  his  mate 
To  fly  after  the  player;  then,  what  makes  the  crickets  elate, 
Till  for  boldness  they  fight  one  another ;  and  then,  what  has 

weight 
To  set  the  quick  jerboa  a-musing,  outside  his  sand  house.'' 


Maid  of  Lome,"  would  have  instructed  the  old  salt,  though 
in  verses  the  reverse  of  didactic  in  tone  or  intent,  that 

' '  Earth,  Ocean,  Air,  have  nought  so  shy 
But  owns  the  power  of  minstrelsy. 
In  Lettermore  the  timid  deer 
Will  pause,  the  harp's  wild  chime  to  hear ; 
Rude  Heiskar's  seal,  through  surges  dark, 
Will  long  pursue  the  minstrel's  bark." 

A  couplet  in  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  poem  would  only  per- 
haps partially  meet  old  Tom's  difficulty,  for  it  treats  of  fishes 
as  dumb,  not  deaf.  But  then  does  not  dumb  include  and 
imply  deaf?  And  might  not  Overbury  choose  dumb  because 
of  the  rhyme  ? 

"And  fishes  too,  though  they  themselves  be  dumbe, 
To  hear  Arion's  harpe  did  gladly  come." 


iqo  BONNIE  KILMENY. 

In  what  Mr.  Kingsley  calls  the  "  grand  ballad  " 
of  Glasgerion,  we  hear  how  the  elfin  harper  could 
harp  fish  out  of  the  water,  and  water  out  of  a 
stone.  The  Kilmeny  of  the  Ettrick  Shepherd 
"keeped  afar  frae  the  haunts  o'  men,  her  holy- 
hymns  unheard  to  sing," — unheard  by  men,  but 
not  by  the  brute-world  ;  for,  wherever  her  peaceful 
form  appeared,  and  her  sweet  voice  sounded,  the 
wild  beasts  gathered  in  peace : 

"  The  wolf  played  blithely  round  the  field, 
The  lordly  bison  lowed  and  kneeled, 
The  dun  deer  wooed  with  manner  bland, 
And  cowered  aneath  her  lily  hand. 
And  when  at  eve  the  woodlands  rang, 
When  hymns  of  other  worlds  she  sang, 
In  ecstasy  of  sweet  devotion, 
Oh,  then  the  glen  was  all  in  motion  ; 
The  wild  beasts  of  the  forest  came, 
Broke  from  their  bughts  and  faulds  the  tame, 
And  goved  around,  charmed  and  amazed  ; 
EVn  the  dull  cattle  crooned  and  gazed  ;  .  .  . 
The  hind  came  tripping  o'er  the  dew,"  etc. 

The  Poet's  Song  of  Mr.  Tennyson,  and  the 
Prelude  to  the  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn  by  Professor 
Longfellow,  will  supply  parallel  passages ;  not  to 
dwell  on  a  less  technical  resemblance  in  Words- 
worth's narrative  poem,  the  White  Doe  of  Ry  Is  tone. 


i9i 


XL 
S@in0trel  anti  »>eer* 

2  Kings  iii.  15. 

"  TJ  RING  me  a  minstrel,"  said  Elisha,  when  he 
U  would  be  moved  to  prophesy.  The  min- 
strelsy would  serve  to  attune  the  faculties  of  the 
seer  to  the  faculty  of  prevision.  The  prelude  of  the 
minstrel  was  the  preparative  of  the  prophet.  "  But 
now  bring  me  a  minstrel.  And  it  came  to  pass 
when  the  minstrel  played,  that  the  hand  of  the 
Lord  came  upon  him,"  and  he  prophesied. 

When  Saul  met  the  company  of  prophets  coming 
down  from  the  high  place,  it  was  with  a  psaltery, 
and  a  tabret,  and  a  pipe,  and  a  harp,  before  them  : 
and  they  prophesied ;  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord 
came  upon  Saul,  and  he  prophesied  with  them, 
and  was  turned  into  another  man ;  insomuch  that 
the  people  said  one  to  another,  "  Is  Saul  also 
among  the  prophets  ?"  His  exceptional  suscepti- 
bility to  music,  as  manifested  in  the  curative  art  of 


192  SUGGESTIVE  MINSTRELSY. 

the  harper  of  Bethlehem,  gives  a  fresh  accent  of 
interest  to  this  passage,  as  betokening  here  too  an 
elective  affinity  between  minstrel  and  seer. 

The  minstrelsy  harmonizes  the  moral  frame, 
intellectual  powers,  and  aesthetical  sensibilities ; 
composing,  and  withal  exciting,  the  listener,  by  the 
spell  of  its  suggestive*  strains. 

Music  is  defined  by  De  Quincey  an  intellectual 
or  a  sensual  pleasure,  according  to  the  tempera- 
ment of  him  who  hears  it ;  and  he  refers  with 
admiration  to  a  passage  in  the  Religio  Medici  of 
Sir  Thomas  Browne,  which,  though  chiefly  re- 
markable for  its  sublimity,  has  also  a  philosophic 
value,  inasmuch  as  it  points  to  the  true  theory  of 
musical  effects.  The  mistake  of  most  people, 
argued  the   English   Opium-eater,  is  to  suppose 

*  The  effect  of  music  upon  the  faculty  of  invention  is  a 
subject  on  which  Mr.  Disraeli  professes  to  have  long  curiously 
observed  and  deeply  meditated.  He  considers  it  a  finer  pre- 
lude to  creation  than  to  execution  ;  saying  that  one  does  well 
to  meditate  upon  a  subject  under  the  influence  of  music,  but 
that  to  execute  we  should  be  alone,  and  supported  by  our 
essential  and  internal  strength.  He  goes  on  to  say  that 
the  greatest  advantage  a  writer  can  derive  from  music  is 
that  it  teaches  most  exquisitely  the  art  of  development  :  "  It 
is  in  remarking  the  varying  recurrence  of  a  great  composer 
to  the  same  theme,  that  a  poet  may  learn  how  to  dwell  upon 
the  phases  of  a  passion,  how  to  exhibit  a  mood  of  mind  under 
all  its  alternations,  and  gradully  to  pour  forth  the  full  tide 
of  feeling." — Contarini  Fleming,  part  iii.,  chap.  viii. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  MUSICAL  FEELING.    193 

that  it  is  by  the  ear  they  communicate  with  music, 
and,  therefore,  that  they  are  purely  passive  to  its 
effects.  "  But  this  is  not  so ;  it  is  by  the  reaction 
of  the  mind  upon  the  notices  of  the  ear  (the  matter 
coming  from  the  senses,  the  form  from  the  mind), 
that  the  pleasure  is  constructed  ;  and  therefore  it  is 
that  people  of  equally  good  ear  differ  so  much  in 
this  point  from  one  another."  The  passage  from 
Sir  Thomas  Brown  is  presumably  that  in  which, 
after  affirming  that  whatsoever  is  harmonically 
composed  delights  in  harmony,  "  which  makes  me 
much  distrust  the  symmetry  of  those  heads  which 
declaim  against  all  church-music,"  the  eloquent 
Medicus  avows  that,  "  For  myself,  not  only  for  my 
[catholic]  obedience  but  my  particular  genius  I  do 
embrace  it ;  for  even  that  vulgar  and  tavern-music, 
which  makes  one  man  merry,  and  another  mad, 
strikes  in  me  a  deep  fit  of  devotion,  and  a  profound 
contemplation  of  the  first  composer."  Coleridge 
who  pronounces  music  the  most  entirely  human 
of  the  fine  arts,  and  having  the  fewest  analoga  in 
nature,  while  he  traces  its  first  delightfulness  to 
simple  accordance  with  the  ear,  goes  on  to  describe 
it  as  nevertheless  an  "  associated "  thing,  which 
recalls  the  deep  emotions  of  the  past  with  an 
intellectual  sense  of  proportion.  "Every  human 
feeling  is  greater  and  larger  than  the  exciting 
cause, — a  proof,  I  think,  that  man  is  designed  for 

13 


194  SENSE  OF  HARMONY. 

a  higher  state  of  existence ;  and  this  is  deeply 
implied  in  music,  in  which  there  is  always  some- 
thing more  and  beyond  the  immediate  expression." 
In  how  many,  exclaims  Professor  Maurice,  has  it 
awakened  the  sense  of  an  order  and  harmony  in 
the  heart  of  things  which,  outwardly,  were  most 
turbulent  and  confused  ;  of  a  spirit  in  themselves 
capable  of  communicating  with  other  spirits  ;  of  a 
union  intended  for  us  upon  some  other  ground 
than  that  mere  formal  and  visible  association,  yet 
justifying,  explaining,  sustaining  that.  "  For  these 
reasons,  and  others  which  I  am  ill  able  to  under- 
stand, but  which  I  do  not  the  less  think  to  be 
solid,  sages  have  spoken  of  Music  as  the  most 
important  instrument  in  forming  men  and  in 
building  up  societies."  The  disclaimer  of  technical 
knowledge  often  accompanies  a  like  assertion  of 
positive  interest  in  the  art ;  as  where  Dr.  Channing, 
in  a  letter  to  Blanco  White,  adverts  to  his  recent 
perusal  of  Goethe's  correspondence  with  Bettina, 
the  musical  sections  of  which  contained  much  that 
he  could  not  understand,  and  much  that  to  him 
sounded  like  extravagance ;  but  he  felt  that  there 
was  a  truth  at  bottom,  and  he  wanted  to  under- 
stand more.  "  I  am  no  musician,  and  want  a  good 
ear,  and  yet  I  am  conscious  of  a  power  in  music 
which  I  want  words  to  describe.  It  touches  chords, 
reaches  depths  in  the  soul,  which   lie  beyond  all 


DE  QJJINCEY  OX  MUSICAL   l  IDEAS?     195 

other  influences, — it  extends  my  consciousness, 
and  has  sometimes  given  me  a  pleasure  which  I 
may  have  found  in  nothing  else.  Nothing  in  mv 
experience  is  more  mysterious,  more  inexplicable* 
An  instinct  has  always  led  men  to  transfer  it  to 
heaven;  and  I  suspect  the  Christian,  under  its 
power,  has  often  attained  to  a  singular  conscious- 
ness of  his  immortality."  Facts  of  this  nature 
made  the  writer  feel  and  affirm  what  an  infinite 
mystery  our  nature  is,  and  how  little  our  books  of 
science  reveal  it  to  us. 

To  a  friend  who,  hypothetically,  objects  that  to 
him  a  succession  of  musical  sounds  is  like  a  collec- 
tion of  Arabic  characters,* — he  can  attach  no  ideas 
to  them, — "Ideas!"  is  Mr.  de  Quincey's  excla- 
matory reply, — "  there  is  no  occasion  for  them  ;  all 
that  class  of  ideas  which  can  be  available  in  such 
a  case  has  a  language  of  representative  feelings." 
Speaking  for  himself,  he  states  that  a  chorus  of 
elaborate  harmony  sufficed  to  display  before  him, 

*  Apply  what  a  philosophic  dissertator  on  imitative  music 
has  said  of  that  little  piece  of  Sir  Sterndale  Bennett's  called 
The  Lake,  which  very  cleverly  describes  a  calm  sheet  of 
water,  presently  ruffled  by  a  creeping  current  of  wind.  If  it 
were  not,  says  the  critic,  for  the  verbal  announcement  of  the 
subject,  one  sees  no  reason  why  the  same  strain  should  not 
do  duty  as  the  description,  of  a  calm  moonlit  scene,  broken 
by  some  envious  clouds,  and  by-and-by  relapsing  into  serene 
light 


196  POETRY,   PAINTING,   MUSIC. 

as  in  a  piece  of  arras- work,  the  whole  of  his  past 
life — not  as  if  recalled  by  an  act  of  memory,  but  as 
if  present  and  incarnated  in  the  music ;  no  longer 
painful  to  dwell  upon,  but  the  detail  of  its  incidents 
removed,  or  blended  in  some  hazy  abstraction,  and 
its  passions  exalted,  spiritualized,  and  sublimed. 
The  late  author  of  a  disquisition  on  the  philosophy 
of  poetical  description,  pronounces  the  imitative 
quality  of  poetry  to  differ  altogether  from  that  of 
painting,  and  to  bear  a  strong  analogy  to  that  of 
music,  her  consorted  sister  in  days  of  old.  Paint- 
ing, he  affirmed  to  represent  co-existence  in  space  ; 
while  music  is  symbolical  of  succession  in  time,  and 
poetry  is  subject  to  the  same  law  of  progression. 
Painting,  he  said,  acts  immediately  upon  the  eye, 
and  only  mediately  upon  the  intellect ;  while 
music  and  poetry  pay  their  first  addresses  to  the 
ear,  and  both  are  capable  of  suggesting  infinitely 
more  than  words  can  say*  Mr.  G.  H.  Lewes 
defines  Italian  music  to  be  the  expression  of  feel- 
ing,— German,  of  both  feeling  and  thought  ;f  there 


*  "Painting  provides  ready-made  images.  Poetry,  like 
music,  disposes  the  soul  to  be  imaginative,  by  exciting  sym- 
pathy. Painting  can  show  a  facsimile  of  the  beautiful  that 
is  seen.  Music,  wedded  to  poetry,  can  fill  the  heart  with  the 
joy  and  power  of  beauty." — What  is  Poetical  Description  ? 
(Blackwood,  1839.) 

t  The  essential  characteristics  of  Italian  music  he  explains 


GERMAN  AND  ITALIAN  MUSIC.         197 

is  emotion  in  the  one,  but  in  the  other  imagination 
and  reverie  have  equal  share.  He  appeals  to  the 
effect  of  each,  to  corroborate  this  description  ;  the 
Italian  exciting  a  sensuous  musical  delight,  and 
often  a  touching  emotion  ;  while  the  German,  "  de- 
ficient perhaps  in  that  sensuous  beauty,  compen- 
sates by  its  reverie.  Beethoven's  music,  though 
trembling  with  feeling,  and  piercing  the  heart  with 
plaints  of  melody  more  tender  and  intense  than 
ever  burst  from  any  other  muse,  has  yet  a  con- 
stant presence  of  Titanic  thought  which  lifts  the 
spirit  upwards  on  the  soaring  wings  of  imagina- 
tion. It  does  more  ;  it  lights  up  the  dim  recesses  of 
the  mind,  and  recalls  those  indefinite,  intense  half- 


to  be  continuity,  simplicity,  melody  :  it  is  full  of  "  linked 
sweetness  long  drawn  out"  He  refers  to  the  works  of 
Paisiello,  Cimarosa,  Rossini,  and  Bellini,  out  of  a  hundred 
names  that  throng  upon  the  memory,  as  displaying  the  cha- 
racteristics of  uniform  simplicity  in  the  structure,  which  con- 
sists of  a  few  large  outlines,  and  the  sensuous  or  passionate 
expression.  "  If  we  then  compare  the  works  of  Bach, 
Beethoven,  Schubert,  or  Spohr,  we  shall  at  once  perceive  the 
opposite  characteristics  of  complexity  in  structure,  rapidity  of 
transitions,  and  the  greater  importance  of  the  harmonies  ; 
moreover,  the  harmonies  in  German  music  have  a  meaning  of 
their  own.  If  an  Italian  air  be  played  and  the  accompaniment 
omitted,  the  expression  of  the  feeling  will  nevertheless  be 
preserved  ;  but  to  omit  the  harmonies  of  a  German  air  is  to 
destroy  it  altogether." — G.  H.  Lewes,  The  Spanish  Drama, 
chap  iv.    (1846.) 


198  DE  PRO  FUNDI S,  IN  EXCELSIS. 


feelings  and  half-ideas  (if  I  may  use  the  word)  which 
are  garnered  in  the  storehouse  of  imaginative  ex- 
perience." For,  as  this  congenial  expositor — whom, 
personally,  to  note  as  a  rapt  listener,  while  Beet- 
hoven is  being  interpreted  by  Halle,  or  Joachim, 
or,  better  still  (and  what  else  can  be  better  than 
that  ?)  by  both  together,  has  been  found  a  pleasant 
incentive  to  yet  keener  listening  on  the  observer's 
part, — as  this  not  superficial  though  most  versatile 
critic  goes  on  to  say,  we  have  all  a  vast  amount  of 
emotions  and  ideas,  to  which  we  can  give  no  defi- 
nite form  ;  links  that  connect  us  with  former  states  ; 
half-remembrances  of  joyful  or  painful  emotions, 
which  have  so  far  faded  in  memory  as  to  become 
mdistinguishably  shadowed  into  a  thousand  others. 
These,  in  fine,  are  what  "  music  of  the  highest 
class  excites  in  us,  by  mingling  with  the  recon- 
dite springs  of  imagination,  and  awakening  long 
dormant  feelings."  Lady  Eastlake  is  eloquent 
on  the  subject  of  those  pure  musical  ideas  which 
give  no  account  of  their  meaning  and  origin, 
and  need  not  to  do  it — of  what  she  terms  that 
delicious  "German  Ocean"  of  the  symphony 
and   the   sonata — of  those  songs    without  words* 

*  Piteously  Charles  Lamb  protests  his  utter  incompetence 
to  apprehend,  comprehend,  or  even  tolerate  "  those  insufferable 
concertos,"  and  elaborations  of  wordless  instrumental  music 
generally.  Words  are  something,  he  says ;  but  to  be  exposed 


JVORDLESS  MUSIC.  199 

which  we  find  in  every  adagio  and  andante 
of  Mozart  and  Beethoven — far  more,  to  her  think- 
to  an  endless  battery  of  mere  sounds  ;  to  fill  up  sound  with 
feeling,  and  strain  ideas  to  keep  pace  with  it ;  to  gaze  on 
empty  frames,  and  be  forced  to  make  the  pictures  for  your- 
self;  to  read  a  book,  "all  stops,"  and  be  obliged  to  supply 
the  verbal  matter  ;  to  invent  extempore  tragedies  to  answer 
to  the  vague  gestures  of  an  inexplicable  rambling  mime — 
these  are  faint  shadows,  on  Elia's  own  showing,  of  what  he 
had  undergone  from  a  series  of  the  most  ably  executed  pieces 
of  "  this  empty  instrumental  music."  But  then  Elia  wrote 
avowedly,  and  of  gentle  malice  aforethought,  as  a  man  who 
had  no  ear. 

A  recent  essayist  on  the  subject  of  the  dearth  of  new  poets 
speculates  on  the  progress  of  music  as  possibly  one  of  the 
causes  that  must  be  taken  into  account  in  explaining  that 
dearth.  When  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young,  Poetry,  we 
are  reminded,  was  grown  up.  The  pair  are  taken  to  have 
insensibly  changed  places  ;  Music  having  developed  into  a 
popular  and  intellectual  science  ;  great  artists  appearing  one 
after  another,  whose  productions  will  live  perhaps  as  long  as 
the  productions  of  ^Eschylusor  Sophocles;  and  sentimen- 
tality and  genius  being  no  longer  driven  to  find  expression 
for  their  thoughts  in  -words.  "  Beethoven  and  Mendelssohn 
have  taken  the  place  of  poets  in  the  nineteenth  century." 

Music,  says  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes,  has  an  absolute  sensuous 
significance  ;  but  for  human  beings  it  does  not  cause  a  mere 
sensation,  nor  an  emotion,  nor  a  definable  intellectual  state, 
though  it  may  excite  many  varied  emotions  and  trains  of 
worded  or  pictured  thought.  But  words  cannot,  he  con- 
tends, truly  define  it  :  we  might  as  well  give  a  man  a  fiddle, 
and  tell  him  to  play  the  Ten  Commandments,  as  give  him  a 
dictionary,  and  tell  him  to  describe  the  music  of  Don  Giovanni. 
— Mr.  Joseph  Goddard,  in  his  Philosophy  of  Music,  claims  for 


LIEDER   OHNE  WORTE. 


ing,   than   in    "  those  dreamy   creations,  beautiful 
as  they  are,  expressly  composed  as  such  by  Men- 
music  this  distinction — that  while  the  other  arts  convey  cir- 
cumstances first  and  the  emotions  afterwards,  music  alone  im- 
parts the  emotion  in  the  first  place,  and  then  the  circumstances. 
"  It  forcibly  rouses  emotion,  that  is,  as  its  first  and  direct 
function  ;  and,  by  a   series  of  suggestive  combinations,  it 
assists  the  associative  faculties  of  the  hearer  to  fill  in  the  cir- 
cumstances according  to  his  capacity."  It  is  notorious,  as  an 
eloquent  dissertator  on  the  subject  has  observed,  that  some 
of  the  most  exquisite  music  of  modern  composition  has  taken 
the   form  of  "  songs  without  words  ; "  and  he  expresses  a 
doubt  whether  the  most  perfect  specimens  of  this  class  would 
be  improved  by  attaching  to  them  even  ideally  beautiful  and 
suitable  language.     Songs  without  words  he  defines  to  be,  in 
truth,  songs  with  an  indefinite  variety  of  sets  of  words  which 
may  be  sung  to  them  in  the  mind's  ear,  and  one  or  other  of 
which  is  so  sung,  every  time  they  are  played,  to  the  ear  of 
each  genuine  listener.     The  temperament,  or  the  particular 
humour  for  the  moment,  he  says,  of  the  individual  listener 
will  colour  slightly  the  details  of  the  imaginary  words  of  the 
song  in  accordance  with  its  own  taste,  subject  to  the  general 
guidance  given  by  the  emphasis  and  harmony  of  the  musical 
score  :  enough  is  left  to  be  filled  out  by  everybody's  private 
imagination,  to  ensure  the  absence  of  any  jarring  of  the  feel- 
ings  of  the  audience  through   the  utterance  of  a  chord  ot 
thought  which  might    please    one   and   displease  another. 
"  There  is  a  pleasure  that  flows  from  the  combination  of  a 
most  definite  tenderness,  joyousness,  or  plaintiveness  of  feel- 
ing in  the  music,  with  an  actual  vagueness  of  expression  as 
regards  the  vocal  utterance  of  the  feeling,  which  would  be  lost 
if  the  air  were  tied  down  to  one  set  of  words  only."    A  crowd 
of  persons,  it  is  added,  may  sit  all  alike  rapt  in  positive  delight 
through  a  performance  of  one  of  Mendelssohn's  Licckr  ohne 


BEETHOVEN'S  ART  OF  CONVERSATION.  201 

delssohn."  These  are  recognized  as  the  true  inde- 
pendent forms  of  music,  which  adhere  to  no  given 
subject,  and  require  us  to  approach  them  in  no 
particular  frame  of  feeling,  but  rather  show  the 
essential  capacities  of  the  muse  by  having  no 
object  but  her  and  her  alone.  The  critic  does  not 
want  to  know  what  a  composer  thought  of  when 
he  conceived  a  symphony  ;  that  would  be  pinning 
us  down  to  one  train  of  pleasure  ;  whereas,  if  the 
composer  is  allowed  the  free  range  of  our  fancy 
without  any  preconceived  idea  which  he  must 
satisfy,  he  gives  us  a  hundred.  Great  is  the  plea- 
sure this  interpreter  experiences  in  merely  watch- 
ing Beethoven's  art  of  conversation, — how  he 
wanders  and  strays,  Coleridge-like,  from  the  path, 

Worte,  while  every  member  of  it  is  unconsciously  agreeing 
to  differ  harmoniously  with  his  next  neighbour  as  to  the  exact 
shade  of  meaning  expressed  by  each  passage  of  the  song. 
Mendelssohn  is  thus  well  said  to  have  left  every  one  of  his 
million  hearers  to  be,  in  regard  of  those  songs,  his  own  poet 
for  ever. 

Mr.  Carlyle  explains  a  musical  thought  to  be  one  spoken 
by  a  mind  that  has  penetrated  into  the  inmost  heart  of  the 
thing  ;  detected  the  inmost  mystery  of  it,  namely,  the  melody 
that  lies  hidden  in  it.  "  All  inmost  things,  we  may  say,  are 
melodious  ;  naturally  utter  themselves  in  song.  The  meaning 
of  song  goes  deep.  Who  is  there  that,  in  logical  words,  can 
express  the  effect  music  has  on  us  ?  A  kind  of  inarticulate 
unfathomable  speech,  which  leads  us  to  the  edge  of  the 
Infinite,  and  lets  us  for  moments  gaze  into  that ! " 


202  STUDYING  BEETHOVEN'S  SYMPHONIES. 


loses  himself  apparently  in  strange  subjects  and 
irrelevant  ideas,  till  you  wonder  how  he  will  ever 
find  his  way  back  to  the  original  argument  "  There 
is  a  peculiar  delight  in  letting  the  scenery  of  one  of 
his  symphonies  merely  pass  before  us,  studying  the 
dim  Turner-like  landscape  from  which  objects  and 
landmarks  gradually  emerge,  feeling  a  strange 
modulation  passing  over  the  scene  like  a  heavy 
cloud,  the  distant  sunlight  melodies  still  keeping 
their  places,  and  showing  the  breadth  of  the  ground 
by  the  slow  pace  at  which  they  shift  towards  us." 
Infinite  is  the  interest  with  which  the  same  ac- 
complished student  follows  the  mere  wayward 
mechanism  of  Beethoven's  ideas — how  they  dart  up 
a  flight  of  steps,  like  children  on  forbidden  ground, 
each  time  gaining  a  step  higher,  and  each  time 
flung  back — how  they  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  whole 
orchestra,  chased  farther  and  farther  by  each  in- 
strument in  turn  ;  are  jostled,  entangled,  separated, 
and  dispersed,  and  at  length  flung  pitilessly  beyond 
the  confines  of  the  musical  scene.  But  we  have 
only  to  wait;  and  anon,  "one  soft  bassoon-link 
holds  the  cable,  a  timid  clarionet  fastens  on, 
other  voices  beckon,  more  hands  are  held  out, 
and  in  a  moment  the  whole  fleet  of  melody 
is  brought  back  in  triumph  and  received  with 
huzzas."  Presently,  again,  the  writer  is  an  amused 
watcher    of    the    great    symphonist's    manner    of 


THE  C  MINOR  SYMPHONY.  203 


treating  his  instruments ;  how  at  first  he  gives 
them  all  fair  play,  then  alternately  seizes,  tor- 
ments, and  disappoints  them,  till  they  wax  im- 
patient, and  one  peeps  in  here  and  another  tries  to 
get  a  footing  there,  and  at  first  they  are  timid  and 
then  bold,  and  some  grow  fretful  and  others  co- 
quettish, and  at  length  all  deafen  you  with  the 
clamour  of  their  rival  claims.  Varied  pleasure  is 
avowed  in  these  and  many  other  fantastic  ideas 
which  he  conjures  up — "but  there  is  quite  as  much 
in  sitting  a  passing  recipient  and  giving  yourself 
no  account  of  your  enjoyment  at  all. 

"  It  is  very  interesting  to  know  that  in  that 
magical  symphony  of  C  minor,  where  those  three 
mysterious  notes  compose  the  ever-recurring  theme, 
Beethoven  was  possessed  by  the  idea  of  '  Fate 
knocking  at  the  door,'  but  we  are  not  sure  that  we 
should  wish  to  have  that  black  figure  with  its 
skeleton-hand  always  filling  up  the  foreground  of 
our  thoughts.  We  never  enjoyed  that  symphony 
more,  than  once  under  the  impression  that  it  re- 
presented a  military  subject,  and  those  inquiring 
notes  seemed  the  outposts  reconnoitring.  The 
mere  leading  idea  of  the  composer  is  often  utterly 
incommensurate  with  the  beauty  of  the  compo- 
sition. If,  like  the  Frenchman,  we  ask  Beethoven's 
Sonata  in  G,  '  Sonate,  que  veux-tu  V  it  does  not 
satisfy  us  to  hear  that  it  means  a  quarrel  between 


204  BOUNDLESS  RANGE  OF  WORDLESS  MUSIC. 

husband  and  wife;  that  the  plaintive,  coquettish 
repartee  of  the  passages  is  all  recrimination  and 
retort,  and  those  naive  three  notes  which  end  the 
last  bar,  the  last  word !  No,  pure  wordless  music 
has  too  mysterious  and  unlimited  a  range  for  us  to 
know  precisely  what  it  means.  The  actual  idea 
from  which  it  may  have  sprung  is  like  the  single 
seed  at  the  root  of  a  luxuriant  many-headed  flower, 
curious  when  found,  but  worthless.  The  ideas  of 
the  composer,  like  himself,  often  disappoint  us. 
Rameau  declared  that  he  could  set  a  Dutch  news- 
paper to  music.  Haydn  cared  not  how  common- 
place the  idea  might  be  which  was  given  him  to 
compose  to.  It  matters  not  whether  the  depths 
of  musical  inspiration  be  stirred  by  a  common 
pebble  or  a  precious  jewel ;  at  most,  we  can  but 
judge  of  the  gloom  or  sunshine  that  is  reflected  on. 
their  surface." 

To  recur  for  a  moment  to  the  comparison  insti- 
tuted by  Mr.  Lewes  between  the  modern  Italian 
and  German  schools.  A  learned  French  Professor, 
in  his  Etudes  sur  VAniiquitc,  speaks  of  Germany 
opening  a  new  sphere  of  art,  by  dint  of  applying 
her  erudition  and  sensibility  combined,  to  music. 
He  describes  the  formation  and  growth  of  a  double 
school  of  music,  while  )ret  the  cannon  of  Bonaparte 
thundered  from  city  to  city — the  school  of  Rossini, 
and  that  of  Beethoven  ;  the  former,  graceful,  lively, 


BEETHOVEN'S  SCHRECKENSXOTE.       205 

prolific,  voluptuous,  careless  ;  the  latter,  prodigal  of 
science,  and  whimsically  bold  in  its  unlooked-for 
combinations.  To  apply  the  lines  of  the  old  dra- 
matist, there  is  in  Beethoven  a  teeming  wealth  of 

"  curiosity  and  cunning, 
Concord  in  discord,*  lines  of  diff' ring  method 
Meeting  in  one  full  centre  of  delight." 

The  Rossini  school  carried  to  the  highest  attainable 
pitch  "l'eclat,  la  rapidite,    la  fougue,    l'elan;"  the 

*  M.  Lenz  calls  the  Schrecke?isnote,  or  note  of  horror,  that 
note  so  familiar  to  amateurs,  the  C  sharp  which,  in  the  midst 
of  a  simple  and  melodious  passage  in  F  major,  in  the  finale 
of  Beethoven's  eighth  symphony,  and  having  no  perceptible 
relation  to  the  key,  is  suddenly  sounded  fortissimo  by  the 
whole  strength  of  the  orchestra  for  the  length  of  a  bar,  after 
which  the  melody  continues  quietly  as  before.  M.  Lenz  finds 
in  this  Schreckensnote  the  expression  of  the  feelings  with 
which  a  person  taking  a  pleasant  walk  should  suddenly  find 
himself  on  the  edge  of  a  tremendous  precipice.  Concerning 
this  one  note,  he  says,  a  whole  book  might  be  written  {Satur- 
day Review,  iv.  112).  M.  Alexandre  Oublicheff,  on  the  other 
hand,  in  his  disquisition  on  Beethoven,  ses  Critiques  etses  Glos- 
sateurs,  compares  the  effect  to  that  a  friend  might  produce  if 
he  jumped  up  suddenly  amid  a  tranquil  and  cheerful  party, 
gave  a  shriek,  made  a  grimace  at  you,  and  then  sat  down 
again  and  continued  the  conversation  where  it  left  off.  The 
imagination  of  different  hearers  would  probably  suggest  other 
comparisons,  his  Saturday  Reviewer  surmises,  who  takes  this 
note  to  illustrate  admirably  well  Beethoven's  real  peculiarity 
as  a  humorist,  and  of  the  highest  order,  uniting  the  perception 
of  the  beautiful  and  sublime  with  the  love  of  the  grotesque 
and  commingling  them.     The  Jean  Paul  of  crotchets. 


206       BEETHOVEN'S  GIFT  OF  MELODY. 

Beethoven  school  sounded  the  depths  of  mystical 
expression.  "On  peut  reprocher  a  Tun  l'exces  de 
la  verve  ;  a  l'autre,  l'obscurite  et  la  complication." 

.   The  reproach  may  be   called   very   French.     Mr. 

'  Hogarth,  again,  admits  the  German  music  of  the 
seventeenth  century  to  have  been  distinguished  by 
learning  and  profundity,  rather  than  facility  and 
grace;  by  intricate  combinations  of  harmony,  rather 
than  flowing  and  expressive  air ;  and  this  he  fur- 
ther admits  to  be  in  a  considerable  degree  the 
character  of  the  German  music  to  this  day,  when 
compared  with  that  of  Italy;  but  he  shows  the 
more  recent  German  composers  to  have  drawn, 
from  the  fountain  of  Italian  melody,  draughts 
which  awakened  their  imagination  and  refined  their 
taste — their  music  gaining  beauty  and  simplicity, 
without  losing  the  richness  of  its  harmony.  This 
remark  is  applied  to  those  parts  of  all  the 
greatest  works  of  Beethoven,  where  the  most  en- 
chanting strains  of  melody  come  upon  the  ear, 
through  his  wild  and  gloomy  masses  of  sound, 
"  like  gleams  of  sunshine  through  the  clouds  and 
darkness  of  an  April  sky."  Lovell  Beddoes  speaks 
in  one  of  his  poems  of 

"  A  pang  of  music  dropping  round  delight, 
As  if  sweet  music's  honiest  heart  did  break." 

And  such  a  commingled  sense  of  honied  sweetness, 
and  pang,  and  delight,  and  heartbreak,  characterizes- 


HIS  STORM  AND  SUNSHIXK.  207 

many  a  sustained  wail  of  Beethoven's.  If  in  his 
harmonies  the  masses  of  sound  are  rightly  said  to 
have  a  depth  of  gloom  peculiar  to  themselves, 
— swelling  on  the  ear,  growing  darker  and  darker, 
"  like  the  lowering  storm-cloud  on  which  we  gaze 
till  we  are  startled  by  the  flash,  and  appalled  by 
the  thunder  which  bursts  from  its  bosom," — strains 
of  melody,  too,  abound,  of  melody  "inexpressibly 
impassioned  and  ravishing ;  strains  which  do  not 
merely  please,  but  dissolve  in  pleasure ;  which  do 
not  merely  move,  but  overpower  with  emotion." 
As  his  slow  and  tranquil  movements  are  described 
as  having  neither  the  placid  composure  of  Haydn 
nor  the  abiding  tenderness  of  Mozart,  but  a  gravity 
all  their  own,  replete  with  deep  and  melancholy 
thought ;  so,  when  rapid,  his  music  is  "not  brisk  or 
lively,  but  agitated  and  changeful,"  stored  with 
"  sweet  and  bitter  fancies  " — full  of  storm  and  sun- 
shine, of  bursts  of  passion  sinking  into  the  subdued 
accents  of  grief,  or  relieved  by  transient  gleams  of 
hope  or  joy.  His  scherzoso,  or  playful  mood,  the 
Surveyor- General  of  Music  declares  to  be  as  unlike 
as  possible  to  the  constitutional  jocularity  to  which 
Haydn  loved  to  give  vent  in  the  finales  of  his  sym- 
phonies and  quartets.  "  If,  in  a  movement  of  this 
kind,  Beethoven  sets  out  in  a  tone  of  gaiety,  his 
mood  changes  involuntarily, — the  smile  fades  away, 
as  it  were,  from  his  features, — and  he  falls  into  a 


208  SYMPHONIES  OF  BEETHOVEN. 

train  of  sombre  ideas,  from  which  he  ever  and  anon 
recovers  himself,  as  if  with  an  effort,  and  from  a 
recollection  of  the  nature  of  his  subject."  M.  Gus- 
tave  Planche  is  treating  of  an  entirely  different 
subject  when  he  casually  refers  to  a  mode  of  com- 
position familicr  an x grands  symphonistcs  de  VAlle- 
mag?ie,  of  whom  Beethoven  is  chief:  "  On  dirait 
qu'il  promene  au  hasard  ses  doigts  sur  le  clavier ; 
mais  peu  a  peu  il  s'exalte,  il  s'enivre  de  sa  pensee, 
le  son  grandit  et  monte  jusqu'au  faite  ;  le  murmure 
qui  tout  a  l'heure  chuchotait  a  nos  oreilles  s'enfle 
jusqu'a  la  menace  ;  nous  etions  dans  une  prairie 
au  bord  d'un  limpide  ruisseau  et  voici  que  nous 
sommes  transported  sur  la  crete  d'un  rocher  au  bord 
d'un  fleuve.  ecumant."  But  surely  quite  as  often  the 
effect  is 

"  As  when  a  melody  that  floated  round, 
Bearing  delight  to  thousand  ravish'd  ears, 
Is  lost  awhile  beneath  a  storm  of  sound, 
Then  through  the  lessening  tumult  reappears, 
And  trebly  potent  for  the  sweet  surprise, 
Unlocks  the  long-closed  gates  of  Paradise, 
And  bids  the  soul  dissolve  in  silent  tears." 

Confessedly  it  is  in  his  symphonies  that  the 
powers  of  Beethoven's  genius  are  most  fully  dis- 
played ;  and  Mr.  Hogarth,  who  pronounces  the 
symphony  in  C  minor  to  stand  alone  and  un- 
rivalled, not  only  claims  for  the  Sinfo7iia  Pastorale 
the   distinction   of  being  the   finest   piece  of  de- 


MIMETIC  MUSIC.  209 


scriptive  music  in  existence,  but  goes  so  far  as  to 
assert  that  it  requires  no  key,  no  explanation,  but 
places  every  image  before  the  mind  with  a  distinct- 
ness which  neither  poetry  nor  painting  could  sur- 
pass, and  with  a  beauty  which  neither  of  them 
could  equal  *     Of  another  of  Beethoven's  sympho- 

*  The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  of  the  General  Survey  of 
Music  (1835)  ridiculed  this  assertion,  in  making  which  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  author,  said  his  critic,  had  carried  him  off 
his  feet ;  and  as  a  parallel  passage  there  was  suggested  one 
of  the  pleasing  exaggerations  of  a  certain  captain  known  to 
all  readers  of  Marryat,  who  described  his  mother  as  being  so 
splendid  a  pianoforte  player,  that  upon  one  occasion,  when 
she  was  delighting  her  friends  with  her  performance,  she 
introduced  an  imitation  of  thunder  so  exquisite,  that  the 
cream  for  tea  became  sour,  besides  three  casks  of  beer  in  the 
cellar.  This  the  reviewer  alleged  to  be  scarcely  more  laugh- 
able than  it  is  to  say  that  the  descriptive  powers  of  the  Pas- 
toral Symphony,  undoubtedly  great  as  they  are,  or  of  any 
instrumental  music  unaccompanied  by  words,  ever  can  place 
imagery  before  the  mind  with  a  distinctness  equal  to  poetry 
or  painting.  Beethoven  himself,  it  is  added,  seems  to  have 
been  of  a  different  opinion,  as  he  has  here  furnished  us  with 
an  explanation,  in  words,  of  the  different  scenes  intended  to 
be  delineated  ;  "  knowing  that  the  graphic  power  of  his 
pencil,  without  such  explanation,  could  never  be  made  to 
convey  any  definite  idea  of  visual  objects,  or  to  give  anything 
more  than  the  general  character  of  certain  emotions,  or  to 
excite  certain  trains  of  association." 

Addison,  in  one  of  the  advanced  numbers  of  the  Spectator 
makes  some  remarks  on  the  "strange"  attempt  to  repre- 
sent visible  objects  by  sounds  that  have  no  ideas  annexed 
to  them,  and  to  make  something  like  description  in  music. 


210  IMITATIVE  ART. 

nies,  that  in  D,  and  to  another  effect,  M.  Planche 
observes — with  a  passing  protest  against  the 
iollowers  of  Beethoven  who,  in  their  own  compo- 
sitions, take  such  slight  account  of  the  characteristic 
qualities  of  their  master,  in  la  lutte  engagce, 
aujourd1  huii  cntre  la  musique  et  la  pofcie — that  the 
author  of  the  admirable  work  in  question  never  once 
mistook    the   limites   infrancJiissables   of   his   art,* 


Yet  it  is  certain,  he  admits,  there  may  be  confused,  im- 
perfect notions  of  this  kind  raised  in  the  imagination  by  an 
artificial  composition  of  notes  ;  "and  we  find  that  great 
masters  in  the  art  are  able  sometimes  to  set  their  hearers 
in  the  heat  and  hurry  of  a  battle,  to  overcast  their  minds 
with  melancholy  scenes  and  apprehensions  of  deaths  and 
funerals,  or  to  lull  them  into  pleasing  dreams  of  groves  and 
Ely  slums." 

*  Mr.  Joseph  Goddard,  in  his  series  of  essays  on  the 
relationship  of  music  to  the  other  fine  arts,  enunciates  this 
proposition — that  whereas  other  forms  of  art,  like  painting 
and  sculpture,  endeavour  to  reproduce  that  phase  of  beauty 
which  created  them  by  means  of  mitation,  music  depends 
upon  the  more  subtle  principle  of  abstract  expression.  The 
painter,  he  argues,  conceives  beauty,  and  immediately  imi- 
tates upon  canvas  some  form  or  some  general  effect,  of 
which  the  original  already  exists  in  what  we  call  external 
nature.  The  poet,  again,  conceives  beauty,  and  imitates 
some  already  existing  form  by  description,  as  the  painter  had 
done  by  representation.  Music,  on  the  other  hand,  renders 
emotion  by  a  medium  of  expression  peculiar  to  itself— namely, 
melody  and  rhythm  or  phrase.  See  The  Philosophy  of  Music 
(1862),  and  a  discriminative  notice  of  it  in  the  Saturday 
Review^  xiv.  350. 


IGNOBLE  MIMICRY.  211 

nor  ever  attempted  to  transfer  to  the  orchestra 
that  analysis  and  portrayal  of  the  passions  which 
belongs  to  language  only.  He  was  satisfied  if  he 
excited  in  his  audience  emotions  alternately  calm 
and  tumultuous,  and  his  efforts  were  crowned  with 
legitimate  success.  He  attempted  not  the  im- 
possible, but  he  realized  all  he  desired ;  and  the 
whole  of  his  symphonies,  without  a  single  ex- 
ception, are  hailed  by  M.  Planche  as  the  best  and 
most  solid  protest  the  most  enlightened  friends  of 
music  could  wish  for,  against  the  aggressiveness, 
les  clival  lis sements,  of  the  philosophico-picturesque 
school.  "  II  n'y  a  pas  une  de  ces  ceuvres  qui 
n'emeuve  profondement ;  mais  *  il  n'y  en  a  pas  une 

*  Apply  a  versicle  from  the  Two  Voices  : 

"  Like  an  >£olian  harp  that  wakes 
No  certain  air,  but  overtakes 
Far  thought  with  music  that  it  makes." 

To  what  base  use  a  nobler  instrument  may  be  degraded, 
is  to  be  seen  in  the  alleged  prostitution  of  the  cathedral  organ 
at  Malaga  on  Christmas  Eve,  when,  after  midnight  mass  has 
been  celebrated,  "  the  organ  peals  forth,  and  successively 
imitates  the  sounds  in  the  manger — an  infant's  cry,  the  cock's 
crow,  the  donkey's  bray,  and  the  ox's  low."  Compared  with 
this,  Paganini's  violin  trickery  in  the  way  of  musical  mimetics 
was  high  art,  when,  as  an  enraptured  admirer  describes  the 
effect, 

"  His  instrument  became  a  tree  far  off, 
A  nest  of  birds  and  sunbeams,  sparkling  both, 


212  THEORY  OF  IMITATION. 

qui  n'offre  a   Interpretation    un   champ    indefini." 
In  listening  to  his  inspired  accents,  mobile  imagina- 

A  cottage-bower  ;  or  he  would  condescend, 

In  playful  wisdom  which  knows  no  contempt, 

To  bring  to  laughing  memory,  plain  as  sight, 

A  farmyard  with  its  inmates,  ox  and  lamb, 

The  whistle  and  the  whip,  with  feeding  hens 

In  household  fidget  muttering  evermore, 

And,  rising  as  in  scorn,  crown' d  Chanticleer, 

Ordaining  silence  with  his  sovereign  crow. 

Then  from  one  chord  of  his  amazing  shell 

Would  he  fetch  out  the  voice  of  quires,  and  weight 

Of  the  built  organ  ;  or  some  twofold  strain 

Moving  before  him  in  sweet-going  yoke, 

Ride  like  an  Eastern  conqueror,  round  whose  state 

Some  light  Morisco  leaps  with  his  guitar  ; 

And  ever  and  anon  o'er  these  he'd  throw 

Jets  of  small  notes  like  pearl,  or  like  the  pelt 

Of  lovers'  sweetmeats  en  Italian  lutes 

From  windows  on  a  feast-day,  or  the  leaps 

Of  pebbled  water,  sprinkled  in  the  sun, 

One  chord  effecting  all." 

If  Beethoven,  in  the  most  popular  of  his  symphonies,  ob- 
serves Mr.  E.  S.  Dallas,  tries  to  give  us  the  song  the  cuckoo, 
the  lowing  of  herds,  and  the  roar  of  the  storm,  he  condescends 
to  imitations  which  are  beyond  his  art,  and  are  confessedly- 
foreign  to  it.  Yet  Coleridge  says  distinctly  that  imitation  is 
the  universal  principle  of  the  fine  arts,  and  that  it  would  be 
easy  to  apply  it  not  merely  to  painting,  but  even  to  music. 
The  theory  of  imitation  came  to  be  accepted  in  the  last  cen- 
tury as  if  (see  chap.  iv.  of  The  Gay  Science)  it  were  one  of 
the  prime  truths  of  religion,  or  one  of  the  axioms  of  reason, 
worthy  of  all  acceptation,  always,  and  by  all  men  ;  and 
though  it  wore  itself  out  gradually,  it  died  hard,  and  held  its 
ground  so  lustily  that  even  some  of  the  ablest  heads  of  Ger- 
many gave  their  adhesion  to  it — Jean  Paul  Richter  adopting 
it  vaguely  as  the  first  principle  of  his  introduction  to  /Esthetic. 


LIMITS  OF  MUSICAL  EXPRESSION.      213 

tions  pass  from  tenderness  to  reverie,  from  reverie 
to  bewildered  awe ;  but  who  shall  ever  translate 

The  theory,  Mr.  Dallas  contends,  is  as  false  as  any  can  be 
which  puts  the  part  for  the  whole,  and  a  small  part  for  a  very 
large  whole. 

There  are  many  ardent  musicians,  another  distinguished 
critic  has  remarked,  who  claim  for  music  a  versatility  and 
delicacy  of  delineation  equal,  if  not  superior,  to  the  produc  - 
tions  of  poetry  and  painting.  The  question  then  is,  ob- 
viously, as  he  puts  it,  how  comes  it  that  no  sooner  does  a 
musical  passage  approach  actual  and  pronounced  description 
than  we  are  sensible  of  a  violation  of  taste  ?  "  The  magnifi- 
cent oratorio  of  Israel  in  Egypt,  and  the  works  of  Handel 
generally,  supply  plenty  of  instances."  The  writer  cites  for 
his  purpose  that  favourite  canto  of  In  Memoriami  of  which 
the  opening  stanza  runs  thus, — 

"  Calm  is  the  morn,  without  a  sound, ' 
Calm  as  to  suit  a  calmer  grief, 
And  only  through  the  faded  leaf 
The  chesnut  pattering  to  the  ground  ;" 

and  he  submits  that  it  would  be  hard  to  meet  with  a  poetical 
passage  more  capable  than  this  is  of  being  rendered,  in  its  broad 
outlines  and  general  tone,  by  musical  sounds.  More  than  one 
strain  from  the  Lieder  ohne  Worte  might,  he  suggests,  be  used 
for  the  purpose  almost  without  alteration  :  the  conceptions  of 
unbroken  peace  in  earth  and  sky,  of  clearness  and  far-reach- 
ing prospect,  of  the  gentle  swaying  of  waves,  felt,  not  seen, 
to  underlie  the  silver  sleep  on  the  sea — all  these  might  be  ex- 
pressed with  great  power  and  beauty,  either  by  the  pianoforte  or 
by  concerted  music.  But  it  is  another  thing  when,  leaving  the 
poet's  broad  outlines,  we  come  to  the  details.  "  Observe,  not 
only  the  echo  from  the  stillness  magically  drawn  out  to  mingle 
with  his  own  suspirium  de  profu ndis, but  the  consummate  art 


214         DESCRIPTIVE  POWER   OF  MUSIC. 

these  eloquent  notes  into  the  vulgar  tongue  ?  In 
the  opinion  of  the  author  of  Etudes  sur  les  Arts, 

which  has,  in  fewest  words,  conveyed  that  harmony  to  other 
ears  in  tones  of  absolute  clearness.  What  sonate  pathctique 
has  done,  or  could  be  made  to  do,  the  same  ?  Not  that  music 
would  be  unable  to  dash  the  calm  with  melancholy,  to  infuse  an 
element  of  passion  into  the  wide  tranquillity  ;  but,  compared 
with  the  surpassing  delicacy  of  this  poem,  the  effect  would  be 
wavering  and  indistinct.  There  would  be  just  this  result,  and 
no  more,  from  the  musical  sounds.  Passion  would  be  under- 
stood to  be  entering  into  the  calm — the  hearers  would  be  left 
to  complete  the  union  ad  libitum;'  Very  ably  this  essayist 
works  out  his  argument  that  music  draws  vaguely — that  its 
descriptive  power  is  feeble  compared  with  the  capabilities  of 
other  arts.  It  falls  short  of  poetry,  he  maintains,  in  this — 
that  unless  aided  from  without,  it  is  able  only  to  enhance 
existing  modes  of  feeling  ;  it  having  no  power  of  close  de- 
marcation, analysis,  or  illustration — at  any  rate  none  that 
can  hold  the  field  for  a  moment  against  the  articulate  powers 
of  language.  It  is  when  the  framework  of  passionate  ex- 
pression has  been  at  least  begun,  if  not  completed,  from  alien 
sources,  that  the  real  triumphs  of  music  are  allowed  to  be- 
come apparent  in  a  gorgeous  decoration  or  superstructure. 
u  Music  will  not  dig  the  channels  of  emotion  with  the  pre- 
cision of  language,  of  painting,  or  of  sculpture ;  but,  these 
being  once  indicated,  it  will  widen  and  fill  them  to  overflow- 
ing. It  will  prove  fuller  of  meaning  than  the  very  words 
without  whose  aid  its  own  meaning  would  have  been  doubtful 
and  hard  to  interpret."  Referring  again  to  In  Memoriam, 
the  writer  says  that  any  lover  of  Beethoven's  music  will  feel 
how  well  he  would  have  set  the  canto  (xv.)  beginning,  u  To- 
night the  winds  begin  to  rise  ;"  or  the  single  verse  (exxix.  , 
u  Thy  voice  is  on  the  rolling  air  ;?' — whereas,  if,  impressed  by 
the  very  same  emotions  as  the  laureate,  Beethoven  had  sat 


DEFINING   THE  INDEFINITE.  215 

this  indefinite  freedom  of  interpretation  is  one  of 
the  fundamental  character-marks  of  music.  To 
seek  to  restrain  and  limit  that  which  by  the  nature 
of  it  is  illimitable — to  aim  at  giving  one  precisely 
ascertained  and  exactly  determined  meaning  to 
notes  capable  of  offering  a  thousand  floating  mean- 
ings— is  to  misconceive  the  end  and  the  resources 
of  music ;  and  Beethoven's  French  critic,  here 
quoted,  appeals  to  his  symphonies  as  sufficing,  if 
attentively  studied,  to  demonstrate  this  truth,  had 
it  not  long  ago  been  established  on  evidence 
beyond  gainsaying. 

Hartley  Coleridge  assumes  all  but  those  who 
have  no  music  in  their  souls,  to  be  well  aware  that 
music  is  capable  of  expressing  and  evoking  any 
simple  emotion  ;  it  may,  he  says,  imitate  the  rapid 
succession  or  dazzling  alternation  of  feeling,  or, 
dying  away  to  silence,  may  symbolize  the  fading  of 
passion  into  pensiveness.  It  may  also,  to  a  certain 
degree,  he  grants,  express  action,  as  action  consists 
in  motion  ;  but  beyond  this  he  denies  that  it  can 
go.  "It  cannot  narrate,  describe,  or  reason.  It  is 
of  little  assistance  to  the  understanding,  and  though 
it  may  stimulate,  it  cannot  inform  the  imagination. 


down  to  give  them  utterance  with  his  own  art  as  the  sole 
vehicle,  he  would  never  have  equalled  the  distinct  delineation 
of  the  poet. 


2i6  FALLACIES  AND  FUTILITIES 

True,  words  may  supply  all  these  deficiencies,  and 
true,  there  is  no  narrative,  description,  reasoning, 
or  imagination,  that  is  truly  poetical,  but  what  in- 
volves or  engenders  a  pleasurable  feeling,  nor  any 
feeling  of  which  some  modification  of  numerous 
sounds  is  not  a  conductor."  Nevertheless,  by  the 
argument,  safe  and  sound,  of  the  author  of  Bio- 
graphia  Borea/is,  whom  no  one  but  himself  had  the 
right  to  designate  Ignoramus  (on  the  Fine  Arts), 
those  compositions  will  be  found  best  accommo- 
dated to  musical  expression,  for  which  music  sup- 
plies a  natural  and  universal  language,  and  such 
are  love,  grief,  and  devotion  ;  because  in  all  these 
the  feeling  suggests  the  thought,  and  not  the 
thought  or  imagery  the  feeling.  In  the  course  of 
some  observations  on  mimetic  verse — as  Homer's 
line  imitative  (by  critical  assumption)  of  the  roll- 
ing, thundering,  leaping  motion  of  a  stone ;  or  in 
Virgil's  dactylic  suggestion  of  the  gallop  or  the 
caracoling  of  a  horse, — Mr.  de  Quincey  shows  that 
picturesqueness,  like  any  other  effect,  must  be 
subordinated  to  a  higher  law  of  beauty  ;  and  he 
adverts  to  the  limits  of  imitation  that  arise  for 
every  art,  sculpture,  painting,  etc.,  indicating  what 
it  ought  to  imitate,  and  what  not  to  imitate.  And 
unless  regard  is  had  to  such  higher  restraints, 
metrical  effects  become  "as  silly  and  childish  as 
the  musical  effects  in  Kotzwarra's  Battle  of  Prague t 


OF  MIMETIC  MUSIC.  217 

with  its  ridiculous  attempts  to  mimic  the  firing  of 
cannon;  groans  of  the  wounded,  etc.,  instead  of  in- 
volving the  passion  of  a  battle  in  the  agitation  of 
the  music."  An  Edinburgh  Reviewer  comments 
on  that  search  after  novelty  by  which  a  composer 
is  led  to  venture  into  the  field  where  music  is  the 
weakest, — that  of  direct  imitation  of  natural  sounds 
by  musical  notes, — a  species  of  rivalry,  the  hope- 
lessness of  which  makes  us  feel  the  good  sense  of 
Agesilaus'  answer,  when  requested  to  hear  a  man 
sing  who  could  imitate  the  nightingale, — "I  have 
heard  the  nightingale  herself."  A  fortiori  this 
critic  disdains  the  futile  attempts  of  musicians  to 
represent  motion,  to  describe  the  seasons,  to  pic- 
ture sunrise  or  sunset,  to  convey  the  impressions 
of  colour,  and  to  narrate  the  incidents  of  a  battle 
or  a  campaign  ;  for  the  ingenious  organist  of  Fer- 
dinand III.,  Froberger,  is  said  to  have  composed 
a  very  striking  musical  representation  of  Count 
Thurn's  passage  over  the  Rhine,  and  the  dangers 
of  the  transit,  "  in  twenty-six  cataracts  or  falls  of 
notes."*  Indeed,  when  a  taste  for  this  sort  of 
mimetic  music,  f  adds  the  reviewer,  is  once  intro- 

*  Sir  J.  Hawkins'  Hist.  Mus.,  i.  3. 

+  Dr.  Beattie,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Dr.  Laing,  speaks  of 
sending  his  correspondent  a  little  treatise  on  the  art  of  music 
by  a  writer,  unnamed,  who  "  thinks  music  an  imitative  art ; 
and  that  a  tune,  which  he  calls  the  Cameronian  Rant,  is  an 


2iS  BURLESQUE  IMITATION. 

duced  (the  proper  sphere  of  which  would  be  the 
comic  opera),  it  is  wonderful  how  even  the  greatest 

exact  resemblance  of  two  women  scolding.  Mr.  Glennie 
plays  the  tune,  which  seems  to  me  to  be  nothing  but  con- 
fusion and  barbarism,  and  to  bear  no  resemblance  to  any- 
thing in  art  or  nature.  Lord  Monboddo,  another  adherent  to 
the  imitative  notion,  says  the  only  true  music  he  ever  heard 
is  the  thing  called  the  Hen's  March,  which  no  man  who 
deserves  to  have  ears  in  his  head  would  allow  to  be  music  at 
all."'  Into  the  second  of  his  miscellaneous  essays  Beattie 
introduces  a  discussion  of  the  query,  Is  music  an  imitative 
art  ?  and  his  negative  is  a  clearly  pronounced  one. 

One  of  Geoffrey  Crayon's  earliest  skits  was  at  the  expense 
of  musical  mimetics  in  their  most  exaggerated  development. 
Military  overtures,  for  instance,  were  then  in  vogue,  from 
which  a  tolerable  idea  was  to  be  gathered  of  martial  tactics  ; 
the  Battle  of  Prague  and  Battle  of  Marengo  displays,  from 
which  you  might  become  very  well  experienced  in  the  fire  of 
musketry,  the  roaring  of  cannon,  the  rattling  of  drums,  whis- 
tling of  fifes,  braying  of  trumpets,  groans  of  the  dying,  and 
trampling  of  cavalry,  without  ever  going  to  the  wars.  u  But 
it  is  more  especially  in  the  art  of  imitating  inimitable  things, 
and  giving  the  language  of  even-  passion  and  sentiment  of 
the  human  mind,  so  as  entirely  to  do  away  with  the  necessity 
of  speech,"  that  a  Salmagundi  correspondent  claims  to  have 
particularly  excelled  the  most  celebrated  musicians  of  ancient 
and  modern  times.  He  can  imitate  ever}-  single  sound,  he 
avers,  in  the  whole  compass  of  nature,  and  even  improve 
upon  it  Especially  he  plumes  himself  on  having  discovered 
a  method  of  expressing,  in  the  most  striking  manner,  u  that 
undefinable,  indescribable  silence  which  accompanies  the 
falling  of  snow."  Both  in  Germany  and  Italy,  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  there  was  a  great  deal  of  burlesque  imitative 
music :  the  cackling  of  hens  all  on  one  note,  and  ending  with 


MIMETIC  MUSIC.  210. 


genius  gives  way  to  the  contagion,  and  follows  the 
herd, — for  has  not  Handel  now  and  then  ventured 


,i  fifth  above,  the  mewing  of  rival  cats  in  nice  chromatic 
order,  with  a  staccato  of  course  by  way  of  a  spit — the  descrip- 
tion is  from  the  oft-quoted  Quarterly  essay — were  favourite 
pastimes  of  the  severest  German  contrapuntists  ;  and  even 
Marcello,  the  Pindar  of  Music,  as  he  was  called,  has  left  two 
elaborate  choruses,  one  for  soprani,  the  other  for  contr'alti, 
which  baa  like  sheep  and  mou  like  oxen.  These,  however, 
were  the  "  avowed  absurdities  of  men  who  liked  occasionally 
to  drop  their  robes  of  dignity."  Mendelssohn  declined  to 
compose  for  such  a  descriptive  poem  as  the  Nachtliclie  Heer- 
sc/iau,  because  he  held  it  to  be  simply  impossible  to  do  so 
with  success.  He  could,  indeed,  he  tells  Frau  von  Pereira  by- 
letter,  have  composed  music  for  it  in  the  same  descriptive 
style  as  Neukomm  and  Fischof ;  he  might  have  introduced  a 
very  novel  rolling  of  drums  in  the  bass,  and  blasts  of  trumpets 
in  the  treble,  and  have  brought  in  all  sorts  of  hobgoblins. 
"  But  I  love  my  serious  elements  of  sound  too  well  to  do  any- 
thing of  the  sort ;  for  this  kind  of  thing  always  appears  to 
me  a  joke" — and  he  compares  it  to  the  paintings  in  juvenile 
spelling-books,  where  the  roofs  are  coloured  bright  red,  to 
make  the  children  aware  they  are  intended  for  roofs. 

It  is  not,  maintains  the  foremost  cf  feminine  authorities  on 
the  philosophy  of  music, — it  is  not  from  any  walk  of  imitative 
music,  however  enchanting,  that  the  highest  musical  pleasure 
can  be  derived  ; — it  is  not  in  the  likeness  of  anything  in  the 
heavens  above,  or  the  earth  beneath,  or  the  waters  under  the 
earth,  that  the  highest  musical  capacity  can  be  tried.  "  It  is 
not  the  dipping  passage  like  a  crested  wave  in  '  The  floods 
stood  upright  as  an  heap/  or  the  wandering  of  the  notes  in 
'All  we  like  sheep  have  gone  astray,'  in  which  Handel's 
intensest  musical  instinct  is  displayed  ;  for  beautiful  as  are 
these  passages,  and  full  of  imagery  to  eye  and  ear,  they 


220  HANDEL'S  TRICKS  OF  SOUND. 

upon  similar  tricks  of  sound  ?  In  the  "  Messiah," 
at  the  passage,  "  I  will  shake  the  heavens  and  the 
earth,"  he  has  introduced  a  sort  of  musical  pun,  by 
repeating  the  word  several  times  on  a  centre  of 
musical  shakes,  "  as  if,"  says  a  critic,  "  the  quaver- 
ing of  the  voice  could  represent  the  commotions  of 
the  world."  And  in  his  "  Israel  in  Egypt,"  he  has 
undertaken  to  represent,  by  musical  notes,  two  of 
the  plagues,  namely,  the  buzzing  of  flies  and  the 
hopping  of  frogs.  Well  says  the  accomplished 
writer  of  Letters  fror?i  the  Baltic  that  our  hearts 
sink  as  we  hear  how  "  the  children  of  Israel  sighed  ! 
— sighed  ! — sighed  ! — by  reason  of  the  bondage  ;" 
but  we  care  not  for  the  closest  imitation  of  a  sob 
given  in  the  duet  of  the  Gazza  Ladra.  "  Delusion 
in  music,  as  in  painting,  is  only  the  delight  of  the 
vulgar."  But  at  all  times,  as  we  are  reminded,  the 
close  power  of  imitation  which  music  affords  has 
been  a  dangerous  rock  for  the  musician.  "  Haydn 
in  his  finest  music  did  not  steer  clear  of  it ;  one 

smack  of  a  certain  mechanical  contrivance ;  but  it  is  in  the 
simple  soothing  power  of  the  first  four  bars  of  the  first  song 
in  the  '  Messiah/  which  descend  like  heavenly  dew  upon  the 
heart,  telling  us  that  those  divine  words,  '  Comfort  ye/  are  at 
hand."  This  is  pronounced  to  be  the  indefinable  province 
of  "  expression,"  in  which  the  composer  has  to  draw  solely 
upon  his  own  intense  sympathies  for  the  outward  likeness 
of  a  thing  which  is  felt  and  judged  of  only  in  the  innermost 
depths  of  every  heart. 


THE  HAILSTONE   CHORUS.  221 

feels  that  the  servile  representations  of  the  tiger's 
leaps,  of  the  stag's  branching  horns,  of  the  patter- 
ing hail,  ....  are  so  many  blots  on  his  glorious 
'  Creation.'  "  Handel's  Hailstone  Chorus  the  same 
writer  accounts  the  grandest  example  in  the  world 
of  the  higher  order,  suggestive,  not  servile,  of 
mimetic  music — beginning  as  it  does  with  the 
closest  imitation,  for  there  are  the  "  single  decided 
ominous  notes,  like  the  first  heavy  lumps  of  ice 
striking  the  earth  in  separate  shots  :"  they  fall 
faster,  yet  still  detached,  when  from  a  battery  which 
we  have  felt  hanging  suspended  above  our  heads, 
"  down  comes  the  deluge  of  sonorous  hail,"  shatter- 
ing everything  before  it ;  and  having  thus  raised 
the  idea,  Handel  is  admired  for  his  art  in  sustain- 
ing it  with  such  wonderful  simplicity  of  means 
— the  electric  shouting  of  the  choruses  "  Fire ! 
Hailstones !"  only  in  strict  unison — the  burst  of 
the  storm  changing  only  from  quavers  into  semi- 
quavers— the  awful  crashing  of  the  elements  only 
the  common  chord  of  the  key,  and  that  the  natural 
key — till  we  "feel  astonished  how  the  mere  repre- 
sentation of  the  rage  of  the  elements  should  have 
given  occasion  for  one  of  the  grandest  themes  that 
musician  ever  composed."*    In  his  apostrophe  to 

*  Another  example  often  cited  of  Handel's  imitative  powers 
in  music  occurs  in  the  accompaniment  to  "He  spake  the 


222  STORM  MUSIC. 


Music,  as  mighty  in  her  threefold  power,  Mr.  Disraeli 
begins  with  "  First,  thou  canst  call  up  all  elemental 
sounds,  and  scenes,  and  subjects,  with  the  definite- 
ness  of  reality.  Strike  the  lyre  !  Lo  !  the  voice  of 
the  winds — the  flash  of  the  lightning — the  swell  of 
the  wave — the  solitude  of  the  valley  !"  And  Lady 
Eastlake  recognizes  the  conveyance  by  storms  and 
tempests  of  a  sense  of  sublimity  which,  however 
frequently  vulgarized  by  the  mere  tricks  of  per- 
formers, must  ever  make  them  favourite  subjects 
for  audiences  and  composers.  In  Beethoven's  tem- 
pest in  the  Pastoral  Symphony  she  hails  the  grand- 
est and  most  fearful  of  all  storms  ;  but  she  owns 
to  a  lingering  fondness  for  Steibelt's  Storm,  in  spite 


word,"  plainly  meant  to  suggest  the  buzzing  and  swarming  of 
flies. 

Again,  it  has  been  noticed  that  in  his  Deborah,  not  once  is 
an  ascending  scale  given  to  the  words  "  To  swift  perdition," 
— always  are  we  carried  down  from  the  upper  note  on  which 
the  phrase  commences. 

Mr.  Dallas  shrewdly  says  that  when  Haydn  stole  the 
melody  to  which  he  set  the  eighth  commandment,  the  force 
of  musical  imitation  could  no  further  go.  If,  adds  the  critic, 
the  same  composer  attempts  to  reflect  in  sound  the  creation 
of  light,  and  to  indicate  by  cadence  the  movements  of  the 
flexible  tiger  ;  and  if  Handel  in  descanting  on  the  plagues  of 
Egypt  gives  us  the  buzz  of  insect  life,  and  indicates  by  the 
depth  of  his  notes  the  depths  of  the  sea,  in  which  the  hosts 
of  Pharaoh  were  drowned  ;  these  imitations  are  alien  to  the 
province  of  art,  and,  artistically  speaking,  are  art-failures. 


IMITATION  LIMITATION.  223 

of  strumming  schoolroom  associations,  as  having  a 
moral  as  well  as  a  dramatic  meaning ;  and  she 
utters  a  wish  that  every  great  musician  would 
leave  to  the  world  his  definition  of  a  storm. 


In  one  of  his  moral  philosophy  lectures,  "  On  the  Beau- 
tiful," Sydney  Smith  follows  Beattie  and  Alison  in  showing 
that  music  can  express  only  classes  of  feeling, — melancholy, 
for  example, — but  not  any  particular  instance  or  action  of 
melancholy.  Thus  the  tune  of  "  Lochaber  no  more"  ex- 
presses the  pathetic  in  general ;  language  only  can  tell  us 
that  it  is  that  particular  instance  of  the  pathetic,  where  a  poor 
soldier  takes  leave  of  his  native  land,  etc.  Hearing  an  air  to 
which  we  know  no  words,  can  inspire  only  general  emotion. 
What  if  the  Pastorale  of  Corelli  may  have  been  intended  to 
imitate  the  song  of  angels  hovering  above  the  fields  of 
Bethlehem,  and  gradually  soaring  up  to  heaven  ?  It  is  im- 
possible, the  lecturer  maintained,  that  the  music  itself  can 
convey  any  such  impression — it  can  convey  only  the  feelings 
of  solemnity,  of  rapture,  of  enthusiasm ;  imagination  must  do 
the  rest. 


224 


XII. 

Uncertainty  of  ~>otmtu 

I  Cor.  xiv.  7,  8. 

EXCEPT  there  be  given,  argues  the  apostle,  a 
distinction  in  the  sounds  of  a  musical  instru- 
ment, whether  pipe  or  harp,  how  shall  it  be  known 
what  is  piped  or  harped  ?  "  For  if  the  trumpet 
give  an  uncertain  sound,  who  shall  prepare  himself 
to  the  battle  ? "  There  is  almost  an  infinity  of 
tones  in  the  world,  and  none  of  them  is  without 
signification  ;  but  they  may  be  so  presented  that 
the  very  object  of  music  is  misrepresented.  As 
God  is  not  the  author  of  confusion,  but  of  peace,  in 
all  churches  of  the  saints  ;  so  neither  is  He  the 
author  of  discord,  but  of  harmony,  in  that  divine 
art.  Let,  then,  all  things  be  done  decently  and  in 
order, — a  precept  of  large,  comprehensive,  and 
stringent  application,  aesthetical  as  well  as  theo- 
logical. As  St.  Paul  remonstrated  with  the  Corin- 
thians, "  How  is  it,  then,  brethren  ?  when  ye  come 


SEPARATIST  SONGSTERS.  225 


together,  every  one  of  you  hath  a  psalm  "  of  his 
own,  a  tongue  of  his  own,  a  will  and  a  way  of  his 
own  ;  and  if  the  whole  church  so  come  together, 
and  all  set  up  each  his  own  psalm,  and  use  his  own 
tongue,  after  his  own  will  and  his  own  way, — will 
not  profane  outsiders  say  they  are  mad  ?  so  will 
and  do  profane  outsiders  say  of  the  discordant 
outcome  of  noises  emitted  by  separatist  songsters, 
who  are  part-singing  with  a  vengeance,  for  it  is  to 
all  effect  singing  apart.  A  crackbrained  crew  or 
choir  they  will  call  them ;  at  any  rate  a  choir 
whose  unruly  din  cracks  the  brain  of  him  that 
hears  them,  if  not  their  own.  The  late  clerical 
author  of  a  dissertation  on  Church  Music  asked 
what  could  possibly  be  worse,  at  the  time  he  wrote, 
than  the  music  in  our  rural  parishes,  and  what  more 
difficult  to  remedy,  and  yet  preserve  "  harmony  "  ? 
for  singers  were  ever  notorious  for  loving  to  have 
things  their  own  way  :  omnibus  hoc  vitium  est  can- 
toribus ;  and  religious  singers  he  pronounced  to  be 
of  all  the  most  given  to  sudden  discords*      The 


*  "  They  imagined  the  whole  congregation  assembled  but 
to  hear  them :  one  of  them  told  me  with  pride,  that  it  was 
the  only  part  of  the  service  during  which  nobody  was  asleep. 
Warming  upon  the  subject,  he  added,  that  he  had  authority 
for  saying,  the  singers  in  the  Jewish  Church  had  precedence 
of  all  other  officials,  and  performed  the  most  essential  part  of 
the  service,  as  was  clear  from  the  Psalms,  '  The  singers  go 

15 


226  EAR-ACHE  IN  CHURCH. 

conceit  of  country  musicians  was  to  him  intoler- 
able ;  but  what  he  chiefly  complained  of  was  their 
anthems.  "  Every  bumpkin  has  his  favourite  solo, 
and  oh,  the  murder,  the  profanation  !  If  there  be 
ears  devout  in  the  congregation,  how  must  they 
ache ! "  Those  anthems,  he  urged,  should  posi- 
tively be  forbidden  by  authority.  Very  telling  is 
the  description  by  the  author  of  Letters  to  Etisebius 
of  half  a  dozen  ignorant,  conceited  fellows  standing 
up,  who  begin  with  a  falsehood  by  professing  to 
sing  "  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  God  "  what  so 
manifestly  is  sung  to  the  honour  and  glory  of  John 
Jones,  Peter  Hussey,  Philip  White,  John  Stobes, 
Timothy  Prim,  and  John  Pride.  Then,  when  they 
are  unanimous,  as  Sheridan  has  it,  their  unanimity 
is  wonderful,  as  all  may  know  who  remember  in 

before,  and  the  minstrels  [which  he  took  to  mean  ministers] 
follow  after.' " — Essays  by  the  Rev.  JoJui  Eagles. 

If  the  clergyman  happens  not  to  be  musical,  the  whole 
choir  hold  him  in  contempt  ;  but,  adds  the  same  temper-tried 
but  ever  good-tempered  parson,  "  if  he  make  attempts  occa- 
sionally to  join  and  do  his  best,  pleased  with  the  compliment, 
they  will  spare  him  ;  as  thus  : — one  wishing  to  put  the  choir 
in  good-humour,  had  the  hypocrisy  to  applaud  their  efforts 
to  the  principal  singer,  who  replied,  pulling  up  his  waistband, 
and  looking  satisfaction,  '  Pretty  well  for  that,  sir ;  but  we 
didn't  quite  pat  off  the  stephany'  [symphony]. — '  Does  your 
parson  sing  ?' — '  A  do  mumbly  a  bit.'  Now  this  was  meant 
to  let  him  down  easy  ;  it  was  neither  praise  nor  quite  con- 
t,  but  one  qualified  with  the  other." — Ibid. 


CHORISTERS'  BABEL.  227 

full  choir  clarionet,  bass  viol,  and  bassoon  assisting, 
"Some  put  their  trust  in  Charrots,  and  some  in 
Orses,  but  we  will  remember,"  etc.  In  the  gallery  at 
this  clerical  critic's  parish  church  there  was  a  tenor 
voice  that  was  particularly  disagreeable, — having  a 
perpetual  yap  yap  in  it,  a  hooh  as  if  it  went  round 
a  corner ;  he  had  a  very  odd  way  too,  of  which 
certainly  he  did  not  "keep  the  noiseless  tenor" 
Then  again,  not  only  every  one  sang  as  loud  as 
he  could  bawl,  but  cheeks  and  elbows  used  their 
utmost  efforts,  the  bassoon  vying  with  the  clarionet, 
the  goose-stop  of  the  clarionet  with  the  bassoon — 
it  was  Babel  with  the  addition  of  the  beasts.  John 
Locke,  in  one  of  his  letters  from  abroad  in  1664, 
describes  a  choir  at  Cleve  with  "  strong  voices,  but 
so  ill-tuned,  so  ill-managed,  that  it  was  their  mis- 
fortune, as  well  as  ours,  that  they  could  be  heard. 
He  that  could  not,  though  he  had  a  cold,  make 
better  music  with  a  chevy  chase  over  a  pot  of 
smooth  ale,  deserved  well  to  pay  the  reckoning, 
and  go  away  athirst"  However,  Locke  is  free  to 
call  these  the  honestest  singing  men  he  had  ever 
seen,  for  they  endeavoured  to  earn  their  money, 
and  earned  it  certainly  with  pains  enough  ;  what 
they  wanted  in  skill  they  made  up  in  loudness  and 
variety :  "  every  one  had  his  own  tune,  and  the 
result  of  all  was  like  the  noise  of  choosing  Parlia- 
ment-men, where  every   one  endeavours  to    cry 


228  INCONTINENT  GABBLE. 

loudest."*  It  only  needed  that  all  who  were  not 
singing  at  or  against  each  other  should  be  talking 
at  or  against  each  other,  to  make  the  confusion 
worse  confounded.  The  talking  of  the  audience — 
by  courtesy  so  called,  though  courtesy  has  neither 
part  nor  lot  in  the  matter — during  the  performance 
of  music,  is  a  standing  grievance  in  standard  litera- 
ture and  daily  life.  It  is  not  every  lover  of  music 
even  who  can  say  with  Mr.  Browning's  glib  listener 
to  a  Toccata  of  Galuppi's, 

"  I  can  always  leave  off  talking,  when  I  hear  a  master  play." 
Incontinence  of  gabble  at  such  times  is  an  offence 
restricted  to  no  class  or  country.f     The  author  of 


*  Henry  Nelson  Coleridge,  writing  from  the  West  Indies, 
is  once  and  again  sore  on  the  subject  of  native  screeching  in 
public  worship.  At  a  Methodist  chapel  in  Anguilla,  "the 
serenity  of  the  neighbourhood  was  disturbed  in  the  evening  " 
by  the  screaming  out  by  rote  some  hymns  and  songs  "  with 
an  asperity  and  discordance  of  tone  which  seemed  to  make 
Nature  angry."  Again,  at  the  meeting-house  in  St  John's, 
Antigua,  they  "made  such  a  disagreeable  noise,  that  I  am 
persuaded  an  indictment  would  lie  in  England  against  them 
for  causing  a  public  nuisance.  Surely  these  good  people 
might  be  a  little  sotto  voce  in  their  canticles  ;  the  introduction 
of  a  minor  key  would  be  a  grateful  relief  to  even-  ear.  .  .  . 
What  would  Charles  Wesley  have  said  at  their  outraging  the 
spheres  after  such  a  sort?  "  — Six  Months  in  the  West  I?idicsy 
3rd  edit.,  pp.  216,  249. 

t  A  degree,  and  to  some  sensitive  ears  only  a  degree,  or 
hardly  that,  less  intolerable,  is  the  vulgar  trick  of  beating  time 


BEATING  AND  KICKING   TIME.  229 

Residence  in  the  Marquesas  tells  us  how,  while  the 
chanters  chanted  and  the  drums  beat,  at  the  Feast 

d  discretion  (and  most  indiscreetly),  or  of  humming  an 
obbligato  accompaniment,  distressingly  audible  and  unwel- 
come. Like  the  susceptible  leg-goer  for  whom  there  is  no 
foot-rest,  in  another  of  Mr.  Robert  Browning's  poems — 

' '  Bang,  whang,  whang,  goes  the  drum  ;  tootle-te-tootle  the  fife  : 
No  keeping  one's  haunches  still :  it's  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life." 

It  is  said  of  the  audiences  in  Lulli's  time  that  they  could 
not  resist  spontaneously  joining  the  performers  in  singing  the 
choruses.  It  is  of  Lulli's  music,  and  of  our  Merry  Monarch's 
love  for  it,  that  Lady  Eastlake  is  speaking  when  she  says  that 
Charles  "wanted  something  to  which  he  could  beat  time."  So 
again  she  says  of  Matthew  Lock's  Macbeth  music,  which  is 
an  excellent  apology  for  that  same  royal  patron  of  his,  the 
"  airy  prince,"  that  it  will  still  set  every  grey  head  or  elderly 
bonnet  in  a  hall  wagging  with  pleasure.  Wag  away,  and 
welcome.  'Tis  merry  in  hall  when  beards  wag  all.  But 
when  it  comes  to  heel-tattooing,  and  time-beating  by  dint  of 
fist  on  the  chair-rail,  or  of  stick  on  the  floor,  and  to  the 
uncultured  improvisation  of  vocal  accompaniments,  ranging 
from  grunt  to  groan,  from  a  hiss  to  a  hum, — the  grievance  is 
dire.  One  of  the  characters  of  Theophrastus  is  the  fellow 
who  "at  a  concert  of  music  breaks  in  upon  the  perform- 
ance, and  hums  the  tune  over  to  himself."  Anstey's  Jack 
Dilettante 

"  Is  often  so  kind  as  to  thrust  in  a  note 
While  old  Lady  Cuckoo  is  straining  her  throat, 
Or  little  Miss  Wren,  who's  an  excellent  finger." 

Almost  amusingly  common  in  society  are  such  experiences 
as  that  recorded  by  Patrick  Fraser  Tytler  in  his  letters,  o 
an  evening  at  ^Eneas  Macintosh's,  where  that  fine  old  salt, 
of  a  bygone  generation,  Admiral  Sir  James  Hillyer,  was  pre- 


230  HEARING    WITH  ONE'S   TOES. 

of  Calabashes,  the  crowd  paid  no  attention  to  the 
music,   such  as  it  was,  but  chatted  and   laughed 

sent  with  his  wife  and  daughter — the  latter  playing  the  harp 
"  as  finely  as  any  professional  performer,  besides  having  a 
rich  full  voice,  without  any  airs  or  trumpery.  Her  taste  was 
admirable  ;  but  the  old  Admiral  insisted  on  joining,  and  sung 
out  as  if  he  had  been  hailing  a  French  man-of-war,  till  his 
wife  stopped  him,  and  sent  him  away  from  the  piano.  It 
was  a  very  funny  scene,  but  the  veteran  bore  it  with  perfect 
good  humour." 

Leigh  Hunt  has  a  laugh  (not  however  without  sympathy 
in  it)  at  unmusical  Lord  Castlereagh's  love  for  the  music  in 
the  Beggar's  Opera,  which  he  "  would  get  ladies  to  play  to 
him  on  the  pianoforte, — humming  over  the  airs  himself  with 
an  exquisite  superiority  to  his  incompetency." 

Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  comments  on  the  tendency  of  all 
pleasurable  (as  well  as  painful)  emotions  to  produce  active 
demontrations  in  proportion  to  their  intensity.  "  People  are 
apt  to  beat  time  with  head  or  feet  to  music  which  particularly 
pleases  them,"  he  remarks  in  his  Inquiry  into  the  Origin  and 
Function  of  Music.  When  the  demonstration  is  confined  to 
the  head,  instead  of  breaking  out  at  the  lower  extremities, 
happy  are  the  next  neighbours  of  the  demonstrant.  Dryden 
is  treating  of  France  and  the  French,  proverbially  a  demon- 
strative folk,  when  he  says  that  at  their  opera,  the  assiduous 
opera-goers  make 

"  foot,  hand,  head,  keep  time  with  every  song." 

Archdeacon  Hare  makes  a  home  complaint  on  the  subject, 
observing  that  there  is  something  odd  in  the  disposition  of 
an  Englishman's  senses  ;  for  he  sees  with  his  fingers,  and 
hears  with  his  toes.  Enter  a  gallery  of  pictures,  for  instance, 
and  you  find  all  the  spectators  longing  to  become  handlers. 
"  Go  to  hear  an  opera  of  Mozart's;  your  next  neighbour  keeps 


CHATTER  AND   TITTER.  231 

together  with  entire  abandon.  M.  Henri  Taine, 
only  three  or  four  years  ago,  told  us  how  disgusting 
to  him,  as  a  musical  connoisseur,  was  the  frivolity 
of  "high-bred"  Parisiennes*  at  the  opera;  how, 
for  instance,  at  the  performance  of  Alceste,  during 
the  terrible  air  of  the  sacrifice,  he  heard  young 
ladies  chattering  to  one  another,  with  suppressed 
laughing  : — "  Why,  that  is  something  to  eat  they 
are  putting  on  the  altar ;  open  your  glass,  quick  ; 
oh,  mon  Dieu,  some  real  cutlets  !  "  f     Vanbrugh's 

all  the  while  kicking  time  .  .  as  if  he  could  not  kill  it  without.'' 
Dr.  Holmes's  village  poet,  Gifted  Hopkins,  had  shown  an  ear 
for  rhythm,  and  for  the  simpler  forms  of  music,  from  his 
earliest  childhood.  He  is  said  to  have  begun  beating  with 
his  heels  the  accents  of  the  psalm-tunes  sung  at  meeting 
at  a  very  tender  age — a  habit,  indeed,  of  which  he  had  after- 
wards to  correct  himself,  as,  though  it  shows  a  sensibility 
to  rhythmical  impulses,  yet,  as  the  author  of  The  Guardian 
Angel  submits,  it  is  apt  to  be  too  expressive  when  a  large 
number  of  boots  join  in  the  performance. 

*  Addison,  in  his  day,  was  severe  (for  him)  on  French 
female  fantastics,  and  their  followers  this  side  the  Channel, 
who  made  a  point  of  chattering  at  the  play  ;  and  he  records 
his  particular  annoyance  in  the  case  of  "  a  woman  of  quality, 
who,  as  I  found  by  the  noise  she  made,  was  newly  returned 
from  France,"  during  a  performance  of  Macbeth.  Landor 
makes  Epicurus  say,  "There  are  even  in  Greece  a  few  re- 
maining still  so  barbarous,  that  I  have  heard  them  whisper 
in  the  midst  of  the  finest  scenes  of  our  greatest  poets." 
"Acorn-fed  Chaonians  !"  is  Leontion's  exclamatory  note  of 
indignation. 

t  The  mention  of  cutlets  reminds  us  of  a  passage  in  one 


TATTLE  AND   GIGGLE. 


Lord  Foppington  likes  the  Opera,  "passionately," 
at  least  on  Tuesdays  and  Saturdays,  because  then 
there  is  always  the  best  company,  and  one  is  not 
expected  to  undergo  the  fatigue  of  listening. 
"  There  is  my  Lady  Tattle,  my  Lady  Prate,  my 
Lady  Titter,  my  Lady  Sneer,  my  Lady  Giggle, 
and  my  Lady  Grin — they  have  boxes  in  the  front, 
and  while  any  favourite  air  is  singing,  are  the 
prettiest  company  in  the  world."  He  urges  Amanda 
to  come  and  judge  for  herself.     "  Alas,  my  lord," 


of  the  letters  of  the  late  Mrs.  Richard  Trench.  "  Think  of 
my  having  given  a  breakfast  to-day.     My  company  were  the 

F 's,  who  expressed  a  wish  to  hear  Tarchi  [in  Paris,  Feb. 

1806],  and  who,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  world,  attended 
more  to  their  veal  cutlets  and  their  chat,  than  to  us,  to  Tarchi's 
evident  displeasure."  So,  but  with  the  difference  of  a  very 
different  hostess,  at  Mrs.  MacClaverhouse's  evening  party,  in  a 
recent  fiction,  where  the  leading  barrister  of  the  day  "  talked 
with  more  animation  than  was  pleasant  to  the  German  basso 
during  that  gentleman's  great  song ;  but  Mrs.  MacClaver- 
house  was  one  of  those  people  who  make  a  point  of  chat- 
tering throughout  the  progress  of  a  musical  performance, 
and  praising  it  loudly  when  it  is  concluded."  In  a  later 
chapter  we  have  another  gathering  under  another  roof,  where 
the  guests  are  perpetually  being  surprised,  and  delighted, 
and  unspeakably  obliged  by  instrumental  and  vocal  displays, 
during  the  course  of  which  they  had  appeared  to  be  agreeably 
occupied  in  brisk  tittle-tattle.  Again,  in  Never  Forgotten, 
we  read  of  the  Campbells  that  drawing-room  music  was 
welcome  to  them  in  a  certain  sense  :  they  found  it  like  the 
music  in  a  melodrama  effective  for  "  talking  through." 


BGN-TON  BABBLE.  233 

replies  Amanda,  "  I  am  the  worst  company  in  the 
world  at  a  concert,  I'm  so  apt  to  attend  to  the 
music."  "Why,  madam,"  his  lordship  rejoins, 
"that  is  very  pardonable  in  the  country  or  at 
church,  but  a  monstrous  inattention  in  a  polite 
assembly."  So  with  the  fashionables  of  the  New 
Bath  Gicide,  who 

"  come  to  the  pump,  as  before  I  was  saying, 
And  talk  all  the  while  the  music  is  playing, 
'Your  servant,  Miss  Fitchet.'    'Good  morning,  Miss 

Stote.' 
1  My  dear  Lady  Riggledum,  how  is  your  throat  ?'"  etc. 

Theodore  Hook  touches  on  the  perfect  uncon- 
cern with  which  a  party  presumably  representative 
of  bon  ton  continued  talking  at  the  Opera  in  the 
ordinary  pitch  of  their  voices,  while  a  duet  was 
going  on,  upon  the  stage,  to  the  annoyed  surprise 
of  an  unsophisticated  visitor,  who  was  ignorant 
enough  to  suppose  that  people  frequented  the 
place  to  see  and  hear,  instead  of  being  seen  and 
heard 

One  of  Mendelssohn's  biographers,  describing 
the  Gewandhaus  concerts  at  Leipzig  in  his  time, 
relates  that  once,  during  a  sudden  pause  in  a 
Beethoven  Symphony,  the  words  "bacon  paste," 
the  subject  of  confidential  talk  between  two 
ladies,  resounded  shrilly  through  that  hall,  the 
motto  of  which  is  Res  severa  est  veram  gaudium — 


234  PROTEST  AGAINST  PRATE. 

a  motto  as  significant  as  the  familiar  Italian  one 
which  heads  Mr.  Ella's  programmes  for  the  Musical 
Union.  It  was  after  one  of  Beethoven's  Sym- 
phonies, as  performed  at  the  Academy  of  Music  at 
Boston,  U.S.,  that  Margaret  Fuller,  all  whose  en- 
joyment and  that  of  a  company  of  friends  had  been 
destroyed  by  the  incessant  buzzing  of  a  young  lady 
and  two  gentlemen,  seated  just  behind  her — a  buzz- 
ing kept  up  in  spite  of  the  bitter  looks  cast  on  the 
buzzers  by  the  would-be  listeners  around, — leaned 
across  the  seat,  and  catching  the  eye  of  the  girl, 
who  was  pretty  and  well  dressed,  said,  in  her  bland- 
est, gentlest  voice,  "May  I  speak  with  you  one 
moment  ?"  "  Certainly,"  said  the  young  lady,  with 
a  fluttered,  pleased  look,  leaning  forward  to  hear. 
"  I  only  wish  to  say,"  rejoined  Margaret  Fuller, 
"  that  I  trust  that,  in  the  whole  course  of  your  life, 
you  will  never  suffer  so  great  a  degree  of  annoyance 
as  you  have  inflicted  on  a  large  party  of  lovers  of 
music  this  evening." 

Mrs.  Gore  tells  us  that  Liszt  left  off  playing  at 
the  royal  concert  at  Brohl,  because  the  Queen  of 
England  was  seen  (not  heard)  to  whisper.  One  of 
the  entries  in  Moore's  Diary  (Dec.  30,  181S)  runs 
thus  :  "  Music  in  the  evening  [at  Bowood]  ;  all  but 
Mackintosh  and  the  elder  Macdonald  attentive. 
They  talked  the  whole  time.  ...  I  said,  when  I 
got  up  from  singing,  '  I  see  those  two  gentlemen 


PIANO-PROTECTED  PRATTLE.  235 

like  to  talk  to  accompaniment,'*  which  brought 
the  rest  of  the  company  upon  them,  and  they  were 
put  to  the  blush."  One  of  our  best  social  essayists 
incidentally  remarks  that  English  people  scarcely 
ever  seem  to  converse  with  anything  like  freedom 
unless  under  cover  of  the  piano.  "  The  ladies  are 
all  collected,  like  a  group  of  Egyptian  idols,  in  a 
solemn  circle,  behind  which  the  men  stand,  until  at 
last  a  victim  is  selected  to  give  that  signal  for  con- 
versation which  is  called  'a  little  music.'"  And 
another  flings  out  at  that  goodly  number  of  persons, 
inevitable  at  all  "  musical  evenings  at  home,"  who 
are  burning  to  discourse  instead  of  being  discoursed 
to, — human  geysers  of  small-talk,  that  bubble  forth 
unrestrained  to  the  accompaniment  of  sonata  or 
song. 

*  "  IVe  been  looking  so  anxious  to  catch  your  eye,"  says 
Mrs.  Brown  to  Mr.  Vincent,  at  the  musical  party  in  one  of 
Mrs.  Oliphant's  Carlingford  Chronicles;  "do  sit  down,  now 
there's  a  chance,  and  let  me  talk  to  you  a  minnit.  .  .  . 
There's  Miss  Polly  Pigeon  going  to  play,  and  everybody 
can  use  their  freedom  in  talking.  For  my  part,  that's  v/hy 
I  like  instrumental  music  best.  When  a  girl  sings,  why, 
to  be  sure,  it's  only  civil  to  listen  ;  but  nobody  expects  it 
of  you,  don't  you  see,  when  she .  only  plays." — Salem  Chapel, 
chap.  i. 


236 


XIII. 
S£tt0ic  anfc  borate* 

Amos  vi.  5. 

HTHE  text  of  "Woe  unto  them  who  chant 
■*-  to  the  sound  of  the  viol,  and  invent  unto 
themselves  instruments  of  music,  as  David  did," 
was  taken  by  Adam  Clarke  to  be  decisive  against 
dancing,  because  the  Hebrew  word  rendered  chant, 
signifies,  on  his  showing,  to  quaver,  to  divide,  to 
articulate,  and  may  be  as  well  applied  to  the  man- 
agement of  the  feet  as  to  the  modulations  of  the 
voice  ;  an  interpretation  backed  by  the  authority  of 
the  Septuagint,  and  of  the  Arabic  version.  Sup- 
posing it  however  to  be  disputed,  Dr.  Clarke  is  not 
to  be  despoiled  of  a  sufficiently  stringent  and  com- 
prehensive improvement  of  the  text :  "  Yet  this 
much  will  not  be  denied,  that  the  text  is  pointedly 
enough  against  that  without  which  dancing  cannot 
well  be  carried  on,  I  mean,  instrumental  music." 
Southey  asks  if  the  doctor  had  forgotten  an  injunc- 


PURITY  OF   WORDLESS  MUSIC.  237 

tion  in  the  Psalms  to  praise  the  J^ord  with  tabret 
and  harp  and  lute,  the  strings  and  the  pipe,  and 
the  trumpet  and  the  loud  cymbals.  The  vocal 
part  of  psalmody  would  perhaps  redeem  the 
instrumental.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  of  music  in 
general  may  it  not  be  held,  that  when  debased, 
when  prostituted  to  immoral  ends,  when  so  used  as 
to  be  essentially  and  most  banefully  abused,  it  is 
the  vocal  associations — all  questions  of  dancing  set 
apart — to  which  the  debasement  is  owing  ?  In- 
strumental* music  alone, — what  wrong  can  it  per- 
petrate, what  mischief  suggest  ?  Madame  de  Stael 
declares  music  to  be  "  happily  powerless  to  ex- 
plain any  base  or  artful  sentiment."  And  Lady 
Eastlake  calls  music  the  most  innocent  companion 
of  the  loves  and  graces ;  "  for  real  romance  is 
always  innocent.  Music  is  not  pure  to  the  pure 
only,  she  is  pure  to  all.  We  can  only  make  her  a 
means  of  harm  when  we  add  speech  to  sound.  It 
is  only  by  a  marriage  with  words  that  she  can  be- 

*  Not  but  that  even  in  instrumental  music  alone  there  are 
widely  differing  degrees  of  moral  character,  or  ethical  sug- 
gestiveness,  so  to  speak.  How  incomparably  more  innocent 
and  pure  to  the  ear  is  the  music,  for  instance,  of  Gliick  than 
that  of  Verdi, — to  say  nothing  of  their  relative  powers  of 
melody ;  or  Haydn's  than  Weber's,  Mendelssohn's  than 
Meyerbeer's, — or,  to  take  a  more  salient  and  perhaps  whim- 
sical contrast  than  either  of  these,  Dr.  Arne's  than  Offen- 
bach's. 


238  MUSIC  PURE  AND  SIMPLE. 

come  a  minister  of  evil.  An  instrument  which  is 
music,  and  music  alone,  enjoys  the  glorious  dis- 
ability of  expressing  a  single  vicious  idea,  or  of 
inspiring  a  single  corrupt  thought."  This  eloquent 
writer  accounts  it  therefore  an  anomaly  in  human 
history  how  any  form  of  religion  can  condemn  an 
organ,  for  it  could  not  say  an  impious  thing  if  it 
would* 

Owen  Feltham,  of  the  Resolves,  pronounces  music 
to  be  good,  or  bad,  according  to  the  effect  it  pro- 
duces. For  example,  as  the  Spartans  used  it,  it 
was  an  incitement  to  valour  and  to  honourable 
deeds  :  "  but  then,  they  were  so  careful  of  the 
manner  of  it,  as  to  fine  Terpander,  and  nail  his 
harp  to  a  post,  for  being  too  inventive,  by  adding  a 
string  to  it  more  than  usual."  Sometimes,  Feltham 
goes  on  to  say,  light  notes  are  useful,  as  in  times  of 
general  joy,  and  when  the  mind  is  depressed  by 
sadness  ;  but  certainly  those  are  the  best  which  in- 
flame zeal,  incite  courage,  or  induce  gravity."  In 
fine,  he  believes  music  to  be  a  helper  both  to  good 


*  "  Every  police  director,"  as  Hoffmann  says  in  his  Phan- 
tasie  Stiicke,  "  may  safely  give  his  testimony  to  the  utter 
innocuousness  of  a  newly  invented  musical  instrument,  in 
all  matters  touching  religion,  the  state,  and  public  morals  ; 
and  every  music-master  may  unhesitatingly  pledge  his  word 
to  the  parents  of  his  pupils  that  his  new  sonata  does  not 
contain  one  reprehensible  idea." 


A   SENSUAL  ART?  239 

and  ill ;  and  he  therefore — here  comes  in  the 
Resolve — "  will  honour  it  when  it  moves  to  virtue, 
and  beware  of  it  when  it  leads  to  vice."  For  to 
him  it  evidently  seemed  capable  of  being  described, 
by  application,  and  with  a  difference,  in  the  lines  of 
his  great  contemporary : 

"  Such  object  hath  the  power  to  soften  and  tame 
Severest  temper,  smooth  the  rugged'st  brow, 
Enerve,  and  with  voluptuous  hope  dissolve, 
Draw  out  with  credulous  desire,  and  lead 
At  will  the  manliest,  re$olutest  breast, 
As  the  magnetic  hardest  iron  draws/' — 

unless  that  superlative  resolutest  be  as  of  one  who 
makes,  and  keeps,  and  prints,  and  publishes  Re- 
solves. 

M.  Victor  Laprade,  in  his  treatise  Du  Sentiment 
de  la  Nature  chez  les  Modernes,  calls  our  age  "  the 
age  of  music  ;  "  and  he  declares  music  to  be  "  the 
sensual  art  par  excellence!'  If  this  be  a  paradox,  it 
must  at  least  be  admitted,  says  one  of  his  critics, 
that  philosophers  who  do  not  generally  labour 
under  the  suspicion  of  spiritualism — M.  Henri 
Taine,  to  quote  only  one — unhesitatingly  endorse 
it  *     Mr.  Disraeli  in  one  of  his  novels  describes  a 


*  On  the  other  hand,  compare  such  remarks  as  this  of 
Merle  d'Aubigne'  in  his  discourse  on  painting,  which,  of  all  the 
fine  arts,  he  asserts  to  be  that  the  ethical  or  religious  influence 
of  which  is  liable  to  the  best-founded  and  the  most  urgent 


240  VOLUPTUOUSLY  SEDUCTIVE. 

course  of  festal  music,  soft  and  subdued,  but  con- 
stant and  thrilling,  which  winds  up  the  listeners  by 
exquisite  gradations  to  that  pitch  of  refined  excite- 
ment which  is  so  strange  a  conjunction  of  delicacy 
and  voluptuousness,  when  the  soul,  as  it  were,  be- 
comes sensual,  and  the  body,  as  it  were,  dissolves 
into  spirit. 

"  These  sweet  tones,  these  melting  voices, 
With  seductive  power  are  fraught ; 
They  dissolve,  in  gentle  longing, 
Every  feeling,  every  thought." 

Music  never  makes  men  think,  says  its  elegant 
expositor  in  the  Quarterly, — and  that  way  lies  the 
mischief.  Query  after  query  is  posed  by  that  pen, 
all  to  be  answered  in  the  negative  :  Does  music  en- 
lighten our  views,  or  enlarge  our  understandings  ? 
Can  it  make  us  more  intelligent,  or  more  prudent, 
or  more  practical,  or  more  moral  ?  "  No,  but  she 
can  make  us  more  romantic  ;  and  that  is  what  we 
want  nowadays  more  than  anything  else," — or  did 
want,  at  any  rate,  when  the  dissertation  was  penned, 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  Music  can 
give  us,  we  are  then  instructed,  pleasures  we  cannot 
account  for,  and  raise  feelings  we  cannot  reason 

objections.  "  Poetry  and  music  came  down  from  heaven,  and 
will  be  found  there  again  ;  but  painting  is  continually  seen 
associated  with  heinous  violations  of  morality,  or  with  fatal 
errors,"  etc. — Hist.  Reform.,  III.,  ix. 


BOUNDS  TO  THE  PROVINCE  OF  MUSIC.     241 

upon ;  *  can  transport  us  into  a  sphere  where  selfish- 
ness and  worldliness  have  no  part  to  play  ;  her 
whole  domain,  in  short,  is  held  to  lie  in  that  much- 
abused  land  of  romance — the  only  objection  to 
which  in  real  life  is  that  mankind  are  too  weak  and 
too  wicked  to  be  trusted  in  it.  But  if  music  cannot 
captivate  us  by  means  of  these  appeals  to  the  feel- 
ings and  the  fancy,  in  every  form  of  spiritual  and 
earthly  emotion,  of  fair  or  fantastic  vision,  "  she 
tries  no  other.  She  appeals  neither  to  our  reason, 
our  principles,  nor  our  honour,  f  She  cannot 
reason,  and  she  cannot  preach ;  but  also  she  can- 
not wound,  and  she  cannot  defile The  very 

Fall  seems  to  have  spared  her  department,  j     It  is 

*  "  I  think  I  should  have  no  other  mortal  wants,  if  I  could 
always  have  plenty  of  music,"  Maggie  Tulliver  says.  "  It 
seems  to  infuse  strength  into  my  linbs,  and  ideas  into  my 
brain.  Life  seems  to  go  on  without  effort,  when  I  am  filled 
with  music.  At  other  times  one  is  conscious  of  carrying  a 
weight." — The  Mill  on  the  Floss,  book  vi.,  chap.  iii. 

t  "  She  can  neither  be  witty,  satirical,  nor  personal. 
There  is  no  Hogarth  in  music.  Punch  can  give  her  no  place 
on  his  staff." — Essay  on  Music,  reprinted  from  the  Quarterly 
Review. 

X  Apply  what  is  said  by  a  north-country  divine  in  a  dis- 
course on  the  Expectancy  of  Creation, — wherein  he  describes 
this  world,  this  inanimate  creation,  as  involved  in  man's  fall, 
"  according  to  its  nature  ;  "  by  which  is  meant  that  the  world 
is  fallen,  in  the  way  and  the  sense  in  which,  by  the  make  of 
things,  it  is  possible  that  it  should  be  fallen.  Of  course  there 
is  no  guilt,  we  are  reminded  ;  it  cannot  sin ;  but  there  is 

16 


242        INTRINSIC  INNOCENCE   OF  MUSIC. 

as  if  she  had  taken  possession  of  the  heart  before 
it  became  desperately  wicked,  and  had  ever  since 
kept  her  portion  of  it  free  from  the  curse,  making 
it  her  glorious  vocation  upon  earth  to  teach  us 
nothing  but  the  ever  higher  and  higher  enjoyment 
of  an  innocent  pleasure."  Sancho  Panza  assures  the 
Duchess,  "  Where  there  is  music,  madam,  there  can 
be  no  mischief."  But  that  is  rather  too  absolute 
a  proposition,  unconditionally  stated.  Dr.  John 
Brown  mediates  between  those  who  assert  the 
omnipotence  of  Art  to  refine  men,  and  those  who 
declare  it  to  be  a  sign  of  the  decline  and  fall  of  the 
nobler  part  of  us.  Neither  is  and  both  are  true,  he 
contends  :  Art  does,  as  our  Laureate  says,  make 
nobler  in  us  what  is  higher  than  the  senses  through 
which  it  passes  ;  but  it  can  only  make  nobler  what 
is  already  noble ;  it  cannot  regenerate,  neither  can 
it   of  itself  debase  and  emasculate  *  and  bedevil 


perversion,  degradation.  Noble  means  and  instruments  are 
perverted  to  base  and  sinful  ends.  "  The  atmosphere  is  con- 
strained unwillingly  to  carry  from  the  speaker's  lip  to  the 
listener's  ear,  words  which  are  false,  impure,  profane.  Surely 
that  beautiful,  liquid  ether  was  never  made  for  that ! "  So 
with  music.  It  is  of  songs  sung  in  wantonness,  and  of  the 
melody  of  viols  attuned  to  purposes  of  dissipation  and  riot, 
that  the  divine  voice  is  heard  to  say,  with  a  minor  prophet 
for  spokesman, — "  Take  thou  away  from  me  the  noise  of  thy 
songs ;  for  I  will  not  hear  the  melody  of  thy  viols." 

*  "Is  it  any  weakness,  pray,"  George  Eliot  asks,  "to  be 


DEBASEMENT  OF  THE  ART.  243 

mankind  ;  but  it  is  a  symptom,  and  a  fatal  one, 
when  Art  ministers  to  a  nation's  vice.  "  The  truth 
is,  Art,  unless  quickened  from  above  and  from  with- 
in, has  in  it  nothing  beyond  itself,  which  is  visible 
[or  audible]  beauty — the  ministration  to  the  lust, 
the  desire  of  the  eye,"  if  not  of  the  ear.  Just  after 
coming  from  Italy,  Mendelssohn  writes  to  a  friend 
that  music  no  longer  (183 1)  exists  there  among  the 
people — a  fact  he  could  not  have  believed  in  the 
case  of  any  nation,  and  least  of  all  of  Italy,  with 
such  rich  and  luxuriant  nature,  and  such  glorious, 


wrought  on  by  exquisite  music? — to  feel  its  wondrous  har- 
monies searching  the  subtlest  windings  of  your  soul,  the 
delicate  fibres  of  life  where  no  memory  can  penetrate,  and 
binding  together  your  whole  being,  past  and  present,  in  one 
unspeakable  vibration  ;  melting  you  in  one  moment  with  all 
the  tenderness,  all  the  love  that  has  been  scattered  through 
the  toilsome  years,  concentrating  in  one  emotion  of  heroic 
courage  or  resignation  all  the  hard-learnt  lessons  of  self- 
renouncing  sympathy,  blending  your  present  joy  with  past 
sorrow,  and  your  present  sorrow  with  all  your  past  joy  ?" — 
Adam  Bede,  book  iv.,  chap,  xxiii. 

The  author  of  the  main  part  of  the  series  of  Little  Books 
on  Great  Subjects,  in  a  letter  warning  a  young  lady-friend 
against  allowing  amusement  to  become  the  business  of  life, 
assures  her  that  ere  long  the  want  of  something  to  fill  the 
mind  would  become  wearisome,  and  that  she  would  feel  un- 
satisfied after  a  day  of  such  sort  of  pleasure  ;  but  adds,  "  not 
however,  when  music  is  concerned,  for  that  hangs  in  the  ear 
of  memory  with  pleasure  for  a  long  time,  and  help  s  to  form 
a  pure  taste." — Letters  of  C.  F.  Cornwallis,  p.  263. 


244        MENDELSSOHN'S  EARNESTNESS. 

inspiriting  antecedents.  "  But,"  he  adds,  "  it  would 
indeed  be  marvellous  if  any  music  could  exist 
where  there  is  no  solid  principle."  In  a  later 
epistle  he  denounces  the  immoral  tendency  of  the 
libretti  favoured  at  that  period  by  Meyerbeer, 
Auber,  and  others,  and  assures  his  good  father,  "  / 
have  no  music  for  such  things.  I  consider  it 
ignoble  ;  so  if  the  present  epoch  exacts  this  style, 
and  considers  it  indispensable,  then  I  will  write 
oratorios,"  and  forswear  operatic  composition  alto- 
gether. In  another  letter  he  says  :  "  I  take  music 
in  a  very  serious  light,  and  I  consider  it  quite  in- 
admissible to  compose  anything  that  I  do  not 
thoroughly  feel.  It  is  just  as  if  I  were  to  utter  a 
falsehood  ;  for  notes  have  as  distinct  a  meaning  as 
words,  perhaps  even  a  more  definite  sense." 

There  is  a  paper  of  Addison's  in  the  Spectator 
which  treats  of  Music  as  having  been  among  those 
who  were  styled  the  chosen  people,  a  religious  art, 
— the  songs  of  Zion  being  nothing  else  but  psalms 
and  pieces  of  poetry  that  adored  or  celebrated  the 
Supreme  Being.  And  he  proceeds  to  cite  Homer 
and  Hesiod  as  intimating  to  us  how  this  art  should 
be  applied,  when  they  represent  the  Muses*    as 

*  Shaftesbury  in  the  Characteristics  says  of  "  the  Thalias, 
the  Polyhymnias,  the  Euterpes,"  that  "  being  alike  interested 
in  the  cause  of  numbers,"  they  are  "  with  regret  employed  in 
another  way,  in  favour  of  disorder.      Instead  of  being  made 


PURIFYING  POWER  OF  MUSIC.  245 

surrounding  Jupiter,  and  warbling  their  hymns 
about  his  throne  ;  while  innumerable  passages  in 
the  ancient  writers  are  hinted  at  which  show  their 
most  favourite  diversions  to  have  been  filled  with 
songs  and  hymns  to  their  respective  deities.  "  Had 
we  frequent  entertainments  of  this  nature  among 
us,  they  would  not  a  little  purify  and  exalt  our 
passions,  give  our  thoughts  a  proper  turn,  and 
cherish  those  divine  impulses  in  the  soul,  which 
every  one  feels  that  has  not  stifled  them  by  sensual 
and  immoderate  pleasures."  For,  as  Addison  af- 
firms, music,  when  thus  applied,  raises  noble  hints 
in  the  mind  of  the  hearer,  and  fills  it  with  great 
conceptions;  strengthening  devotion, and  advancing 
praise  into  rapture. 

"  Ye  devotees  to  your  adored  employ, 
Enthusiasts,  drunk  with  an  unreal  joy, 
Love  makes  the  music  of  the  blest  above, 
Heaven's  harmony  is  universal  love  ; 
And  earthly  sounds,  tho'  sweet  and  well  combined, 
And  lenient  as  soft  opiates  to  the  mind, 
Leave  vice  and  folly  unsubdued  behind." 

Delitzch  asserts  the  existence  in  all  Music,  of 
not  only  an  unspiritualized  principle  still  remaining, 


sirens  to  serve  the  purposes  of  vice,  they  would  with  more 
delight  accompany  their  elder  sisters,  and  add  their  grace- 
and  attractive  charms  to  what  is  most  harmonious,  muses 
like,  and  divine  in  human  life."  . 


246  MUSIC  AND  MORALS. 

of  material  natural  origin,  but  also  what  he  calls  a 
Cainite  element,  of  impure  sensual  origin,  which 
makes  it  at  once  the  most  seemingly  innocent  and 
the  most  dangerously  seductive  of  the  Arts. 
11  What  pity  base  his  song  who  so  divinely  sings  !  " 
exclaims  the  poet  of  the  too  fascinating  minstrel  in 
his  Castle  of  Indolence.  So  Keble  recognizes  the 
liability  to  profanation  of  the  sacred  soul-enthral- 
ling strain — 

"  As  in  this  bad  world  below 
Noblest  things  find  vilest  using." 

And  that  is  a  truly  pregnant  passage  in  Shakspeare 
where  the  most  philosophical  of  his  dukes  (for  he 
has  more  than  one  ducal  philosopher)  declares 
that 

"  Music  oft  hath  such  a  charm, 
To  make  bad,  good,*  and  good  provoke  to  harm." 

A  latter-day  dramatist  makes  his  Agolanti  de- 
nounce the  frivolous  antechamber  tinkling,  that 

"  Attunes  the  pulse  to  levity  ;  puts  folly 
In  mind  of  vice,  as  though  the  hint  were  needed." 

*  As  a  preservative,  or  conservative  influence,  Homer  pays 
it  a  compliment  more  or  less  direct,  when  he  ascribes  to  the 
bard  devoted  to  Menelaus  the  immunity,  for  a  time,  of  frail 
Helen  from  the  dishonour  which  too  soon  overtook  her  : 

"  Atrides,  parting  for  the  Trojan  war, 
Consign' d  his  youthful  consort  to  his  care. 
True  to  his  charge,  the  bard  preserved  her  long 
In  honour's  limits  ;  such  the  power  of  song." 


CHARACTER   OF  CHIEF  MUSICIANS.      247 

Mr.  Landor's  Panenos,  the  painter,  with  some- 
thing of  one-sided  professional  disparagement  of  a 
rival  art,  declares  every  clever  composer  he  ever 
met  with,  or  indeed  ever  heard  of,  to  have  been  a 
child  in  levity  and  dissipation.  "  But,  Panenos," 
urges  his  interlocutor,  "  surely  we  may  be  fond  of 
music,  and  yet  stand  a  little  on  this  side  of  idiocy." 
The  painter's  reply,  warming  to  his  work,  is,  that 
he  who  loves  not  music  is  a  beast  of  one  species ; 
he  who  overloves  it  is  a  beast  of  another,  whose 
brain  is  smaller  than  a  nightingale's,  and  his  heart 
than  a  lizard's.  "  Record  me  one  memorable  say- 
ing, one  witticism,  one  just  remark,  of  any  great 
musician,  and  I  consent  to  undergo  the  punishment 
of  Marsyas.  Some  among  them  are  innocent  and 
worthy  men  ;  not  many,  nor  the  first.  Dissipation, 
and,  what  is  strange,  selfishness,  and  disregard  to 
punctuality  in  engagements,  are  common  and 
nearly  general  in  the  more  distinguished  of  them. 
— O  Music !  how  it  grieves  me,  that  imprudence, 
intemperance,  gluttony,  should  open  their  channels 
into  thy  sacred  stream  !  "  *     Again,  in  one  of  the 

*  Pericles  and  Aspasia,  cviii. — In  the  best  known  of  his 
poems,  Landor  makes  the  hero  exclaim, 

"  O  that  I  ne'er  had  learnt  the  tuneful  art ! 
It  always  brings  us  enemies  or  love." 

As  to  its  faculty  of  making  enemies,  compare  what  one  of 
our  best  essayists  on  social  subjects  has  said  of  the  odium 


248         PERFERVIDUM  ODIUM  MUSIC  CM. 

Imaginary  Dialogues,  that  between  Alfieri  and 
Salomon  the  Florentine  Jew,  Walter  Savage  Landor 
is  evidently  propounding  his  own  view  of  the 
matter,  when  he  makes  the  former  say  of  music, 
that  it  is  both  sunshine  and  irrigation  to  the  mind  ; 
but  that  when  occupying  and  covering  it  too  long, 
music  debilitates  and  corrupts  it.  "  Sometimes," 
the  Italian  poet  proceeds  to  remark,  "  I  have 
absorbed  music  so  totally,  that  nothing  was  left  of 
it  in  its  own  form  :  my  ear  detained  none  of  the 

musicum,  that  there  is  no  hatred  like  that.  Whereas  nothing 
is  held  to  excite  so  many  uncharitable  feelings  among  its  pro- 
moters as  a  charity  bazaar,  he  maintains  that  a  charity  con- 
cert excites  them  in  far  greater  intensity.  Even  when  there 
is  no  philanthropic  object  to  be,  as  he  says,  a  pungent  satire 
on  the  proceedings,  it  is  a  rare  thing,  we  are  assured,  to  find 
much  unanimity  or  mutual  forbearance  among  amateur 
musicians.  What,  he  asks,  are  the  Christian  graces  to  ladies 
whose  voices  compass  two  octaves,  and  gentlemen  who  can 
boast  of  an  ut  de  fioitrine  ?  The  preliminaries  to  an  amateur 
concert  are  described  as  one  series  of  tiffs  and  huffs  and 
sulks.  And,  the  concert  well  over,  the  giver  of  it  is  pictured 
to  our  mind's  eye  resting  his  head  upon  his  well-earned 
pillow,  and  dreamily  speculating  on  the  effect  of  music  on  the 
human  character.  "  Does  it  do  mankind  more  good  or  evil  ? 
Why  are  those  who  devote  themselves  to  the  art  so  little- 
minded  and  self-seeking?  For  one  whom  it  refines  and 
elevates,  are  there  not  twenty  to  whom  it  is  morally  injuri- 
ous ?"  And  here,  vaguely  groping  for  the  true  answer  to 
such  suggestions — namely,  that  a  thing  is  not  bad  because  it 
is  capable  of  abuse — the  speculator  is  supposed  to  close  his 
weary  eyelids,  and  fall  asleep. 


NERVE-DISSOLVING  MELODY.  249 

notes,  none  of  the  melody  ;  they  went  into  the 
heart  immediately,  mingled  with  the  spirit,  and 
lost  themselves  among  the  operations  of  the  fancy, 
whose  finest  and  most  recondite  springs  they  put 
simultaneously  and  vigorously  in  motion." 

Odysseus,  forewarned,  was  forearmed  against  the 
Sirens,  "  whose  song  is  death,  and  makes  destruc- 
tion please.  Unblest  the  man  whom  music  wins 
to  stay  nigh  the  cursed  shore,  and  listen  to  the  lay." 
Sing  sirens  only  ?  do  not  angels  sing?  asks  Young  ; 
but  he  is  strenuous  in  his  warnings  against  the 
strains  of  those  who  are  more  than  a  little  lower 
than  the  angels,  and  whose  degrading  art  can 
find  for  their  hapless  victims  below  the  lowest 
depth  a  lower  still.  It  is  in  the  laureate's  Vision  of 
Sin  that  we  hear  "  low  voluptuous  music  winding 
tremble,  woven  in  circles  " — anon  to  storm  in  orbs 
of  song,  a  growing  gale,  "as  'twere  a  hundred- 
throated  nightingale."  The  strong  tempestuous 
treble  throbs,  and  palpitates ;  and  we  are  lost  in  a 
giddy  whirl  of  sound — 

"  Till,  kill'd  with  some  luxurious  agony, 
The  nerve-dissolving  melody 
Flutter'd  headlong  from  the  sky." 

Nerve-dissolving — there  the  ofTence  lies,  there  the 
peril,  there  the  penalty.  Such  the  music  of  the 
"  enchanter  false  "  of  the  Castle  of  Indolence,  with 


2;o  ENERVATING  STRAINS. 

whose  siren  melody  its  doomed  denizens  were 
u  ymolten,"  while  o'er  the  enfeebling  lute  his  hand 
he  flung. 

"  Each  sound  too  here  to  languishment  inclined, 
Lulled  the  weak  bosom  and  induced  ease  ; 

....  such  soul-dissolving  airs 
As  did,  alas  !  with  soft  perdition  please  : 
•  Entangled  deep  in  these  enchanting  snares, 
The  listening  heart  forgot  all  duties  and  all  cares." 

Plato's  banishment  of  poets  from  his  Republic, 
because  they  enervate  the  soul  by  pictures  of  im- 
moderate desire,  and  overstep  the  limits  of  that 
moderation  which  alone  can  balance  the  soul, — is 
logically  enough  extended  to  musicians  also  ;  to 
those,  at  least,  who  are  plaintive  and  harmonious  ; 
only  the  Dorian  and  the  Phrygian  *  music  being 

*  No  tolerance  in  the  Platonic  Atlantis  or  Utopia  for  the 
soft  music  that  Lydia  taught,  or  that  Ionia  perfected  ;  such 
as  Arbaces  the  Egyptian  cultivated  at  Pompeii,  and  which 
came  like  a  stream  of  sound,  bathing  the  senses  unawares  ; 
enervating,  subduing  with  delight.  Modern  echoes  of  which, 
with  a  difference,  Pope's  imitation  of  Horace  may  be  taken  to 
repeat,  when  he  tells  how 

"The  willing  muses  were  debauched  at  Court : 
On  each  enervate  string  they  taught  the  note 
To  pant,  or  tremble  through  an  eunuch's  throat" 

Pope  wrote,  however,  at  a  time  during  which,  and  for  long 
after  which,  music  in  general,  and  "  fiddling "  in  particular, 
were  voted  effeminate  and  unmanly  in  England ;  and  when 
Britons  were,  as  Mr.  Thackeray  says   in    The    Virginians, 


CHANGED  ESTIMATE   OF  MUSIC.         251 

admissible — the  one  impetuous  and  warlike,  the 
other  calm.  If  the  Spartans  cultivated  music  and 
dancing,  not  without  skill  and  success,  it  was  always 
music  or  dancing  of  one  kind  ;  on  Plutarch's  show- 
ing, it  was  a  crime  to  vary  an  air  or  invent  a 
measure.     Adam  Smith  is  treating  of  the  republics 

called  upon  by  the  patriotic  prints  to  sneer  at  the  frivolous 
accomplishments  of  your  Squallinis,  Monsieurs,  and  the  like. 
Great  the  contrast  between  that  time  and  ours,  when  you  so 
rarely  meet  with  a  man  who  likes  to  own  that  he  is  destitute 
of  musical  sensibility ;  for  nowadays,  a  Saturday  Reviewer 
has  remarked,  persons  who  are  incapable  of  being  touched 
by  the  "  concord  of  sweet  sounds  "  are  regarded  as  lacking 
something  necessary  to  the  completeness  of  their  nature. 
"  There  is  no  more  common  source  of  lamentation  among 
gentlemen  than  their  want  of  technical  and  mechanical  skill 
as  performers.  The  old  notions  that  a  love  of  music  indicates 
effeminacy,  or  leads  to  gross  vice,  are  long  since  exploded  in 
cultivated  society."  The  salt  of  the  sneer  at  fiddling  has  lost 
its  savour. 

It  was  in  the  last  year  of  his  life  that  Dr.  Channing  began 
to  see  what  a  large  amount  of  pleasure  in  life  he  had  lost  by 
neglecting  music.  He  describes  himself  as — now  that  he  was 
beginning  to  grow  old,  and  his  ears  losing  their  sensibility — 
"  waking  up  more  to  the  mysteries  of  harmony."  But  he  is 
mindful  to  add  to  this  record  the  memento  :  "  There  is  one 
discouraging  thought,  that,  in  countries  where  music  is  most 
cultivated,  force  and  freedom  of  soul  seem  wanting,  and  men 
acquiesce  in  servitude."  This  thought  avails  not,  however,  to 
prevent  his  rejoicing  at  the  manifest  breaking  out  of  a  musical 
spirit  among  his  countrymen  ;  for,  to  a  people  so  much  "  in- 
clined to  the  positive  and  precise,"  good  must  come,  he  felt 
assured,  from  an  infusion  of  this  more  ethereal  influence. 


MUSIC  AND  MORALS. 


of  ancient  Greece  generally,  when  he  states  that 
every  free  citizen  was  instructed,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  the  public  magistrate,  in  music  as  well  as  in 
gymnastic  exercises, — the  musical  education  being 
designed  to  humanize  the  intellect,  to  soften  the 
temper,  and  to  dispose  it  for  performing  all  the 
social  and  moral  duties  of  life.  He  takes  note  of 
there  being  nothing  among  the  Romans  to  corre- 
spond to  the  musical  education  of  the  Greeks, — 
connecting  this  fact  with  that  of  the  superiority  of 
the  public  morals  of  the  former.  "  It  seems  pro- 
bable that  the  musical  education  of  the  Greeks  had 
no  great  effect  in  mending  their  morals,  since, 
without  any  such  education,  those  of  the  Romans 
were  upon  the  whole  superior."  Sidonius,  in  his 
celebrated  account  of  the  character  and  habits  of 
Theodoric,  includes  this  notice  of  the  royal  Visi- 
goth's supper  parties  :  "  But  female  singers,  and 
the  soft  effeminate  modes  of  music,  are  severely 
banished,  and  such  martial  tunes  as  animate  the 
soul  to  deeds  of  valour  are  alone  grateful  to  the 
ear  of  Theodoric."  * 

*  Since  the  foregoing  section,  on  Music  AND  MORALS, 
was  in  type,  I  have  seen  advertized  a  forthcoming  work,  with 
the  same  title,  by  the  Rev.  H.  R.  Haweis,  whose  previous 
contributions  to  musical  literature  warrant  the  assurance  of 
his  treating  the  subject  with  an  application  of  method, 
ethical  and  aesthetic,  to  which  these  piebald  pages,  on  and 
off  at  a  tangent,  make  not  the  slightest  pretence. 


253 


XIV. 

310  an?  90nxj?  ? 

Psalm  lxxxi.  I  ;  James  v.  13. 

IS  any  merry  ?  let  him  sing  psalms, — the  pre- 
scription is  apostolical.  "  Sing  we  merrily 
unto  God  our  strength,"  is  the  Psalmist's  appeal ; 
"make  a  cheerful  noise  unto  the  God  of  Jacob. 
Take  the  psalm,  bring  hither  the  tabret :  the  merry 
harp  with  the  lute." 

"  I  am  never  merry,  when  I  hear  sweet  music," 

quoth  Shakspeare's  Jessica.  His  Jaques  confesses 
to  a  like  constitutional  bias.  When  that  moody 
man  of  the  woods  prays  for  "  more,  more,  I 
pr'ythee,    more,"    of  such  songs  as  Amiens*   can 

*  The  particular  song  in  question,  or  rather  in  request,  is 
Under  the  greenwood  tree.  Could  Shakspeare  have  known 
how  sweetly  and  spiritedly  Dr.  Arne  would  one  day  set  to 
music  that  lyric  of  his, — and  with  what  depth  of  sympathy  the 
Come  away,  death, — not  to  cite  other  instances,  he  might 
well  have  pleaded,  like  his  own  Jaques,  for  "  more,  more,  I 


254  MUSIC  AXD  MELANCHOLY. 

warble,  under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs  (for 
now  are  we  in  Arden),  the  singer  demurs,  with  the 
plea,  or  argumentum  ad  homincm,  "  It  will  make 
you  melancholy,  Monsieur  Jaques," — who  at  once 
disposes  of  the  demur,  with  an  "  I  thank  it.  More, 
I  pr'ythee,  more.  I  can  suck  melancholy  out  of  a 
song,  as  a  weasel  sucks  eggs.  More,  I  pr'ythee, 
more."  Even  that  common  tavern-music  which 
made  the  commonalty  merry,  made  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  devout  and  u  deep-contemplative."  All 
music,  asserts  Madame  de  Stael,*  even  if  its  occa- 

prVthee,  more."  And  these  songs  are  nowadays  practically- 
shelved — clean  forgotten,  like  a  dead  man  out  of  mind  ;  all 
alive  though  they  be,  every  word  of  them,  even-  note  of  them 
— while  flabby  stuff,  "  composed"  for  this  or  that  vocalist,  in 
the  pay  of  this  or  that  publisher,  is  presumably  (judging  by 
expenditure  in  advertisements)  all  the  rage.  But  oh,  the  pity 
of  it,  ye  Musical  Worldlings, — but  oh,  the  pity  of  it ! 

*  See  Corinne,  1.  vi.  ch.  i.  In  a  later  book,  of  the  same 
work,  occurs  this  passage  :  "  Oswald,  since  his  misfortunes, 
had  never  regained  sufficient  courage  voluntarily  to  hear 
music.  He  dreaded  those  ravishing  sounds,  so  agreeable  to 
melancholy,  but  which  prove  so  truly  injurious  while  we  are 
weighed  down  by  real  calamities.  Music  revives  the  recol- 
lections it  would  appease." — Again  :  "  Music  is  so  volatile  a 
pleasure, — we  are  so  sensible  that  it  escapes  from  us  even  as 
we  enjoy  it, — that  it  always  leaves  a  tender  impression  on  the 
mind  ;  yet  when  expressive  of  grief,  it  sheds  gentleness  even 
over  despair."  (1.  ix.,  ch.  ii.) 

Oswald's  shrinking  from  what  would  too  deeply  move  him, 
has  its  parallel  in  Mr.  Coventry  Patmore's  Frederick,  lament- 
ing a  loss : 


OVER-WROUGHT  SENSIBILITY.  255 

sion  be  a  gay  one,  renders  us  pensive.  Olimpia,  in 
the  Legend  of  Florence,  has  noted  oft, — 

"  That  eyes,  that  have  kept  dry  their  cups  of  tears, 
The  moment  they  were  touch' d  by  music's  fingers, 
Trembled,  brimful." 

And  her  companion  expounds  to  her  the  philosophy 
of  the  problem,  much  as  Shakspeare's  Lorenzo  does 
with  Jessica's :  "  It  is  the  meeting,  love,  of  beauty 
so  divine  with  earth  so  weak." 

Archdeacon  Hare  has  even  declared  that,  after 
listening  to  very  fine  music,  it  appears  one  of  the 
hardest  of  problems,  how  the  delights  of  heaven 
can  be  so  attempered  to  our  perceptions,  as  to  be- 
come endurable  for  their  pain.* 

"  And  thus  I  dread  the  impatient  spur 
Of  aught  that  speaks  too  plain  of  Her. 
There's  little  here  that  story  tells  ; 
But  music  talks  of  nothing  else. 
Therefore,  when  music  breathes,  I  say, 
(And  busier  urge  my  task, )  Away  ! 
Thou  art  the  voice  of  one  I  knew, 
But  what  thou  say'st  is  not  yet  true  ; 
Thou  art  the  voice  of  her  I  loved, 
And  I  would  not  be  vainly  moved." 

*  Here  again  Madame  de  Stael's  words  may  be  cited, — that 
the  exquisite  union  of  two  voices  perfectly  in  tune  produces 
an  ecstasy  that  cannot  be  prolonged  without  pain  :  she  calls 
it  a  blessing  too  great  for  humanity,  which  vibrates  like  an 
instrument  broken  beneath  too  perfect  a  harmony. 

The  German  transcendentalist  in  Gait's  Ojnen,  asserts  that 
such  persons  as  particularly  delight  in  the  delicacies  of 
chromatic  melodies,  modulated  in  a  flat  key,  whether  they 


256  WHY  SWEET  MUSIC  SADDENS. 

But  the  author  of  the  Legend  of  Florence  had, 
long  before,  written  a  prose  essay  on  the  inquiry- 
Why  sweet  music  produces  sadness ;  and  he  takes 
exception  to  that  "young  and  most  elegant  logi- 
cian," Lorenzo's,  explanation  of  it,  as  not  sufficient ; 
for  how  does  it  account  for  our  being  moved,  even 
to  tears,  by  music  which  is  not  otherwise  melan- 
choly ?  All  attention,  the  essayist  grants,  may  be 
said  to  imply  a  certain  degree  of  earnestness,  and 
all  earnestness  has  a  mixture  of  seriousness ;  yet 
seriousness  is  not  the  prevailing  character  of  atten- 
tion in  all  instances,  for  we  are  attentive  to  fine 
music,  whatever  its  character  ;  and  sometimes  it 
makes  us  cheerful,  and  even  mirthful.  "  The  gid- 
dier portions  of  Rossini's  music  do  not  make  us 
sad  ;  Figaro  does  not  make  us  sad  ;  nor  is  sadness 
the  general  consequence  of  hearing  dances,  or  even 
marches."  And  yet,  again,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
the  midst  of  any  of  this  music,  even  of  the  most 
light  and  joyous,  our  eyes  shall  sometimes  fill 
with  tears.     How  is  this  ? 

The  reason  surely  is,  as  Leontius,  not  Lorenzo, 
takes  it,  that  we  have  an  instinctive  sense  of  the 

be  composers,  performers,  or  listeners,  are  seldom  long-lived. 
For  the  most  part,  he  maintains,  they  die  before  their  forty- 
second  year ;  though  a  few,  by  reason  of  more  strength,  do 
sometimes  reach  to  forty-nine.  And  here  he  professes  to 
speak  as  an  inductive  philosopher. 


IN  THE  MINOR  KEY.  257 

fugitive  and  perishing  nature  of  all  sweet  things, — 
of  beauty,  of  youth,  of  life, — of  all  those  fair  shows 
of  the  world,  of  which  music  seems  to  be  the  voice, 
and  of  whose  transitory  nature  it  reminds  us  most 
when  it  is  most  beautiful,  because  it  is  then  that 
we  most  regret  our  mortality.*  Behind  every 
scale  in  music,  as  one  of  New  England's  foremost 
writers  pens  it, — be  that  music  the  gayest  and 
cheeriest,  or  the  grandest,  the  most  triumphant, — 
lies  its  dark  relative  minor ;  the  notes  are  the 
same,  but  the  change  of  a  semitone  changes  all  to 
gloom  ;  "  all  our  gayest  hours  are  tunes  that  have 
a  modulation  into  these  dreary  keys  ever  possible  ; 
at  any  moment  the  key-note  may  be  struck."  All 
sweet  moods,  to  apply  a  line  of  Mr.  Swinburne's, — 

u  Throw  out  such  little  shadows  of  themselves," 

leave  such  regrets  behind. 

It  was  with  the  music  of  the  Miserere  resound- 
ing in  her  ears,  during  the  Holy  Week  in  Rome, 
that  Mrs.  Shelley  called  it  strange  that  grief,  and 
laments,  and  the  humble  petition  of  repentance 
should  fill  us  with  delight — a  delight  that  awakens 

*  "  We  do  not,  it  is  true,  say  this  to  ourselves.  We  are 
not  conscious  of  the  reason  ;  that  is  to  say,  we  do  not  feel  it 
with  knowingness j  but  we  do  feel  it,  for  the  tears  are  moved." 
— See  the  forty-sixth  essay  in  the  second  series  of  The  Seer. 
(A  sibilant  reference.) 

17 


258  SUGGESTIVE   OF  SADNESS. 

those  very  emotions  in  the  heart — and  calls  tears 
into  the  eyes,  and  yet  which  is  dearer  than  any 
pleasure.  It  is,  she  considers,  one  of  the  mysteries 
of  our  nature,  that  the  feelings  which  most  torture 
and  subdue,  do  yet,  if  idealized,  elevated  by  the 
imagination,  married  harmoniously  to  sound  or 
colour,  turn  those  pains  to  happiness ;  inspiring 
agitation,  and  a  tremulous  but  ardent  aspiration 
after  immortality.*  Miss  Yonge's  Violet,  in 
Heartsease,  has  often  wondered  why  fine  produc- 
tions of  art  "  should  make  one  feel  half  sad  and 
half  thoughtful"  when  one  bestows  real  attention 
on  them.  She  is  answered,  "  Perhaps  because  it  is 
a  straining  after  the  only  true  beauty."  Lamar- 
tine's  description  of  the  music  of  the  sunny  South, 
of  Neapolitan  dance  music  for  instance,  comprises 
the  remark  that  gay  though  the  instruments  may 
be,  and  the  attitudes  those  of  joy,  the  airs  are  sad, 
the  slow  and  long-drawn  notes  causing  the  hidden 
chords  of  the  heart  to  vibrate  to  their  depths.  It 
is  ever  thus  with  music,  he  alleges,  whenever  it  is 
not  an  empty  amusement  for  the  ear,  but  a  har- 
monious vibration  of  the  passions,  which  find  an 
utterance  in  the  voice.     "  All  its  accents  are  sighs, 

*  "  Such  seems  the  sentient  link  between  our  heavenly  and 
terrestrial  nature  ;  and  thus  in  Paradise,  as  Dante  tells,  glory 
beatifies  the  sight,  and  seraphic  v  harmony  wraps  [sic]  the 
saints  in  bliss." — Rambles  in  Germany  and  Italy,  1840-43. 


SUSPIRIOSsE  COGTTATIONES.  259 

all  its  notes  blend  tears  with  their  sound.  They 
can  never  strike  forcibly  upon  the  heart  of  man 
without  his  yielding  them  tears  ;  so  full  is  nature, 
to  her  depths,  of  sadness,  and  so  invariably  does 
whatever  moves  her,  raise  the  cup  of  bitterness  to 
our  lips,  and  veil  our  eyes  with  a  robe  of  mourning." 
Prior  avails  himself  of  a  like  doctrine  in  his  exposi- 
tion of  the  experiences  of  King  Solomon, — vanity 
of  vanities,  sorrow  of  heart  and  vexation  of  spirit. 
The  monarch  in  his  systematic  pursuit  of  pleasure 
enlists  the  aid  of  the  cheerful  choir ;  the  lyre  softens 
the  timbrel's  noise  ;  trumpet  and  Dorian  flute  com- 
mingle their  notes,  "both  sweeter  found  when 
mixed  ;"  the  fife  refines  the  effect  of  the  viol ;  and 
for  Solomon  the  symphony  is  repeated,  or  varied, 
at  the  opening  and  the  closing  of  every  day : 

"  Yet  still  in  vain  ;  for  music  gathered  thought ; 
But  how  unequal  the  effects  it  brought  ! 
The  soft  ideas  of  the  cheerful  note, 
Lightly  received,  were  easily  forgot  : 
The  solemn  violence  of  the  graver  sound 
Knew  to  strike  deep,  and  leave  a  lasting  wound." 

Byron  writes  to  Moore  in  181 3  that  he  has  just 
heard  one  of  his  Irish  Melodies  *  so  well  sung,  that, 
"  but  for  the  appearance  of  affectation,   I    could 

*  In  the  Life  of  Byro?i,  Moore  incidentally  remarks  that 
he  had  known  few  persons  more  alive  to  the  charms  of  simple 
music  ;  and  that  frequently  had  he  seen  the  tears  in  Byron's 
eyes  while  listening  to  the  Irish  Melodies. 


260     TEAR-COMPELLING  IRISH  MELODIST. 

have  cried."  A  few  months  later  he  tells  him  how 
his  own  singing  of  Moore's  songs  has  caused  so 
many  tears,  that  a  protest  has  been  entered  by  one 
in  authority,  against  his  continuing  the  strain. 
Moore's  own  Diary  is  rife  with  examples  to  the 
purpose.  He  exults,  at  Lord  Lansdowne's,  in  1818, 
at  making  "the  tears  frequently  stand  in  the 
eyes"  of  Dugald  Stewart,  his  fellow-guest.  "I 
never  saw  any  man  that  seemed  to  feel  my  singing 
more  deeply."  "  Miss  Edgeworth,  too,  was  much 
affected.  This  is  a  delightful  triumph  to  touch 
these  higher  spirits  !  "  In  1820  we  have  this  entry: 
"  Dined  with  the  Fieldings  :  sung  in  the  evening 
to  him,  her,  Montgomery,  and  the  governess, — all 
four  weeping.  This  is  the  true  tribute  to  my  sing- 
ing." In  1824  Moore  has  been  dining  at  Lord 
Belhaven's,  and  writes :  "  Lady  Tullamore  so 
affected  at  'Poor  broken  heart/  that  she  was 
obliged  to  leave  the  room,  sobbing  violently." 
Again,  in  1828,  at  Colonel  Bailey's:  "Was  in  good 
voice,  and  with  the  'Song  of  the  Olden  Time' 
drew  tears  from  the  young  beauties  around  me." 
The  next  refers  to  Byron's  once  beloved  Miss 
Chaworth,  afterwards  (and  too  soon  for  his  peace) 
Mrs.  Musters:  "Sung  a  few  songs,  at  some  of 
which  Mrs.  M.  cried."  Another  entry  records  how, 
at  Mr.  Hodgson's,  Moore's  singing  of  "  And  doth 
not  a  meeting  like  this  "  brought  tears  from  both 


SONGS  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  261 

singer  and  hearers.  And  once  more,  "  more  than 
once"  the  singer  can  speak  to  having  "seen 
Jeffrey  (though  he  professes  rather  to  dislike  music) 
with  tears  in  his  eyes "  at  the  Song  of  the  Olden 
Time. 

Washington  Irving  loved  to  recall  in  his  old  age 
the  emotions  he  felt  as  a  child  at  his  sister's  sing- 
ing of  the  old  pathetic  ballad,  "The  moon  had 
climbed  the  highest  hill  that  rises  o'er  the  source 
of  Dee."  How  it  used  to  make  him  weep !  he 
would  exclaim ;  and  yet  how  constantly  he  was 
begging  her  to  sing  it !  So  too  would  M.  de 
Tocqueville  recall  the  evenings  at  his  father's 
chateau,  when  the  servants  were  gone,  and  the 
family  sat  round  the  fire,  and  his  mother,  "  whose 
voice  was  sweet  and  touching,"  would  sing  a 
royalist  song  on  the  death  of  Lewis  XVI.,  "and 
when  she  ended,  we  were  all  in  tears." 

When  at  Alexander's  Feast  the  sweet  musician 
Timotheus,  placed  on  high  amid  the  tuneful  choir, 
turned  from  the  praise  of  Bacchus,  and  choosing 
"  a  mournful  muse,  soft  pity  to  infuse,"  sang  the 
fall  of  Darius,  and  that  dismal  end  of  his,  exposed 
on  the  bare  ground,  with  not  a  friend  to  close  his 
eyes,  with  downcast  looks  sat  and  listened  Philip's 
warlike  son,  "and  now  and  then  a  sigh  he  stole, 
and  tears  began  to  flow." 

Gibbon's  account  of  Attila's  royal  feast   omits 


262  POWER  OF  SOUND. 

not  due  mention  of  the  "vocal  harmony"  which 
moved  the  elder  of  the  guests  to  tears.  The  dull 
idiot  even,  is,  on  Wordsworth's  showing,  suscep- 
tible to  strangely  stirred  emotions  by  the  same 
power.  The  Power  of  Sound  is  the  name  this  poet 
has  given  to  one  of  his  poems,  (a  name  by  popular 
usage  erroneously  assigned  to  Spohr's  great  sym- 
phony, which  professes  to  treat  of,  not  the  Power, 
but  the  Consecration  of  Sound  ;)  in  which  poem 
the  simile  occurs,  that  as  conscience  smites,  with 
irresistible  pain,  to  the  centre  of  being, 

"  So  shall  a  solemn  cadence,  if  it  enter 
The  mouldy  vaults  of  the  dull  idiot's  brain, 
Transmute  him  to  a  wretch  from  quiet  hurled — 
Convulsed  as  by  a  jarring  din  ; 
And  then  aghast,  as  at  the  world 
Of  reason  partially  let  in 
By  concords  winding  with  a  sway 
Terrible  for  sense  and  soul  ! 
Or,  awed  he  weeps,  struggling  to  quell  dismay. 
Point  not  these  mysteries  to  an  Art 
Lodged  above  the  starry  pole  ; 
Pure  modulations  flowing  from  the  heart 
Of  divine  love,  where  wisdom,  beauty,  truth, 
With  order  dwell,  in  endless  youth  ?" 

Chaucer  tells  us  how,  "  when  that  Arcite  to  Thebes 
comen  was,  full  many  a  day  he  swell'd,  and  said, 
Alas  !  for  see  his  lady  shall  he  never  mo  ; "  and 
how,  bereft  of  appetite,  and  unrelieved  by  sleep,  he 
wasted  to  a  shadow ; 


"FLATTERED   TO   TEARS?  263 

"  And  if  he  hcarde  song  or  instrument, 
Then  would  he  weep  ;  he  mighte  not  be  stent." 

Critics  of  taste  have  admired  the  touch  about  the 
music  as  exquisite  ;  and  have  favourably  compared 
Chaucer  with  Dryden,  who,  in  his  modernization 
of  the  Knight's  Tale,  dare  not  let  Arcite  weep, 
when  he  hears  music,  but  restricts  him  to  a  gentle- 
manly sigh.  Praised  by  such  a  critical  pen  is  the 
phrase  John  Keats  uses,  of  "  flattered  to  tears,"  in 
the  case  of  one  whose  was  harsh  penance  on  St. 
Agnes'  Eve,  but  whom  the  spell  of  church  melody 
moved  to  weeping  : 

"  Northward  he  turneth  through  a  little  door, 
And  scarce  three  steps  ere  music's  golden  tongue 
Flattered  to  tears  this  aged  man  and  poor."  * 

And  just  as  Leigh  Hunt ,  relishes  as  a  bonne  boucke, 
or  dainty  bit,  the  quaint  phrase  "flattered,"  in 
Keats,  so  does  Sainte-Beuve  smack  his  lips  over  an 
equally  quaint  phrase  in  Madame  de  Sevigne  ;  who, 
describing  the  tears  shed  by  the  quality  at  Lulli's 
Cadmus,  continues,  in  her  very  own  style,  that  she 
was  not  alone  in  her  weeping  a  de  certains  endroits; 
for  "lame  de  Mdme.  de  la  Fayette  en  est  toute 

*  Yes,  comments  the  most  genial,  most  congenial  of  Keats's 
contemporary  critics, — "  the  poor  old  man  was  moved  by  the 
sweet  music  to  think  that  so  sweet  a  thing  was  intended  for 
him  as  well  as  for  others." — See  Leigh  Hunt's  review,  among 
his  collected  essays,  of  The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes. 


264  SCHUBERT  AND  JEAN  PAUL. 

alarmee."  The  terminal  word  is  the  text  for  the 
master-critic's  note  of  admiration  :  "  Comme  cette 
ame  alarmee  est  bien  la  delicatesse  meme  !  "  Jean 
Paul  Richter  bears  record  of  himself  that  nothing 
so  touched  and  exhausted  him  as  fantasien  on  the 
pianoforte,  himself  the  player,  improvising  im- 
promptu after  impromptu  that  Schubert  might 
have  loved  to  study,  in  that  mood  of  dreamy 
reverie  dear  to  them  both  ;  for  between  Schubert* 

*  Gradually  this  exquisite  genius  is  becoming  better  known 
and  valued  in  this  country  ;  and  his  chamber  music,  his  sym- 
phonies, his  overtures,  are  now  and  then  to  be  heard,  as  well 
as  his  sonatas.  For  a  while  he  was  recognized  amongst  us 
as  a  song-writer  only.  But  even  in  that  capacity  he  was 
known  by  the  general  as  the  composer  of  only  some  half- 
dozen  out  of  the  centuries  of  songs  he  has  left  us.  The  Wan- 
derer, and  the  Erl-king,  an  Ave  Maria,  and  a  Hark,  hark, 
the  Lark! — these,  and  some  two  or  three  others,  made  up  the 
British  repertory  of  his  effects.  Even  now,  though  various 
lieder  of  the  Winterreise  and  of  Die  schbne  Miilleri?i  series 
are  becoming  more  or  less  familiar,  besides  such  gems  of 
purest  ray  and  perfect  setting  as  Die  junge  Nonne,  yet  there 
remains  all  but  intact  the  bulk  of  Schubert's  voluminous 
effects  in  vocal  music.  Few  have  made  acquaintance  with 
his  singularly  grand  and  expressive  compositions  on  subjects 
from  classical  mythology  and  the  like — often  so  impassioned, 
always  so  impressive — rich  in  imaginative  power,  infinitely 
varied  in  character,  and  many  of  them  models  of  constructive 
art,  fragmentary  though  they  be.  Noble  examples  of  this 
kind  are  the  Orest  auf  Tauris  and  Der  entsiihnte  Orest; 
the  agitated  Philoctet,  the  fine  Fragment  aus  dc?n  ^Eschylus, 
the  tuneful  Orpheus,  the  forcible  Atys,  those  highly  dramatic 


SC HUBERTS   WEALTH  OF  SONG.         265 

and  Jean  Paul  there  are  clearly  pronounced  elective 
affinities  ;  and  perhaps  to  appreciate  the  vague  yet 
intense  longings  of  some  of  Schubert's  strains,  there 
needs  a  sympathetic,  familiarity  with  Germany's 
prose-poet  dcr  Einzig.  "  I  could  thus  kill  myself," 
Richter  says,  of  his  fantasy-playing  :  "  All  buried 
feelings  and  spirits  rise  again.  My  hand  and  heart 
and  eye  know  no  limits.  At  last  I  close  with  an 
eternally   recurrent  but  too  powerful  tone.      One 

scenas  Hektors  Abschied  and  Antigone  und  CEdip;  the  im- 
petuous course  of  Die  ziirnende  Diana,  the  energetic  power 
of  An  Schwager  Kronos  and  of  Gruppe  aus  dem  Tartarus,  the 
melodious  flow  of  Aus  Heliopolis  and  of  Ganymed,  and  the 
devout  majesty  of  the  Lied  eines  Schiffers  an  die  Dioskuren. 
Then,  again,  what  wealth  of  romantic  invention  and  what 
felicity  of  narrative  art  in  such  pieces  as  the  Ritter  Toggen- 
burg,  and  as  Ein  Fraulein  schaut  voni  he  hen  Thurm;  what 
resources  of  picturesque  art  in  the  Ossian  series, — now  of 
martial  enthusiasm,  now  of  stormy  excitement,  now  of  almost 
inexpressible  pathos  (as  in  that  loveliest  of  Hebridean  laments, 
welling  over  with  tenderness,  Kolmas  Klage) ;  what  depth  of 
feeling  in  the  Mignon  songs  ;  what  a  weird  beauty  in  the  wail 
of  Thekla's  ;  what  spirit  in  the  hunting  chansons  ;  what 
unsurpassable  utterance  of  yearning  desire,  or  of  sombre 
solicitude,  or  of  conflicting  emotions,  in  such  characteristic 
morceaux  as  Drang  in  die  Feme,  and  Dass  sie  hier  gewesen, 
and  Du  bist  die  Ruh,  and  Abendrbthe  /  But  it  seems 
invidious  to  particularize,  when  so  many  compositions  equal 
in  charm  must  be  left  unmentioned.  The  handy  and  mode- 
rately priced  edition  of  Litolf,  in  some  dozen  volumes,  will 
be  a  veritable  treasure-trove  to  whoso  would  learn  Schubert's 
wealth  of  song. 


266  JEAN  PAUL  AND  SCHUBERT. 

may  be  satisfied  with  hearing,  but  never  can  be 
with  making*  music;  and  every  true  musician 
could,  like  the  nightingales,  trill  himself  to  death. 
When  I  have  fantasied  long,  I  break  out  into 
violent  weeping,  without  thinking  of  anything 
decidedly  melancholy.  The  tones  cut  deeper  and 
clearer  into  ear  and  heart.  Tears  are  my  strongest, 
but  most  weakening  intoxication."  And  in  almost 
every  song  of  that  sweet  singer,  Schubert,  we  seem 
to  detect  les  larmes  dans  la  voix. 


*  How  naturally  would  this  assertion  come  from  Schubert 
—  as  any  one  will  probably  agree  who  has  studied  the 
lingering  linked  sweetness,  so  long-drawn  out,  of  his  sonatas, 
and  has  marked  his  seeming  reluctance  to  take  leave  of  a 
beloved  theme. 


267 


XV. 
feongg  of  JMlgrimaffe* 

Psalm  cxix.  54. 

TO  the  Psalmist  the  divine  statutes  were  his 
songs  in  the  house  of  his  pilgrimage.  The 
Pilgrim's  Progress  abounds  with  the  voice  of  melody 
thus  conceived,  thus  inspired,  and  thus  expressed. 
Christian  is  cheered  by  the  Interpreter,  and  goes 
on  his  way  singing.  .  Singing  he  goes  up  the  hill 
Difficulty,  after  he  has  drank  of  the  brook  by  the 
way;  therefor  he  lifts  up  his  voice.  In  the  pil- 
grim's chamber  called  Peace,  in  the  House  Beau- 
tiful, he  sleeps  till  break  of  day,  and  then  he 
awakes  and  sings.  After  the  dread  duel  with  Apol- 
lyon,  he  gives,  thanks  for  victory  in  a  paean  of 
praise.  When  he  has  safely  passed  the  cave  of  the 
two  giants,  Pope  and  Pagan,  he  sings  a  song  of  de- 
liverance. Faithful,  as  soon  as  he  has  shaken  off 
that  "bold  villain"  Shame,  begins  to  sing.  Im- 
mediately after  Faithful's  martyrdom,  Christian 
goes  on  his  way  singing  in  mcmoriam  fratris  and 


268  PILGRIMS  MAKING  PROGRESS. 

ad  laadem  Dei.  When  By-ends  and  his  com- 
panions go  over  to  Demas,  Christian  commemo- 
rates in  song  his  own  escape.  In  the  pleasant 
meadow,  beside  the  river  of  life,  the  pilgrims  sing 
with  one  consent — 

"  Behold  ye  how  these  crystal  streams  do  glide, 
To  comfort  pilgrims  by  the  highway  side,"  etc. 

Such  of  them  as  escape  Doubting  Castle  and  Giant 
Despair,  hymn  forth  a  song  of  deliverance  on  their 
way  to  the  Delectable  Mountains.  Through  the 
glass  of  the  Shepherds  they  see  something  like 
the  gate  of  the  Celestial  City,  and  some  even  of  the 
glory  of  the  place  ;  and  as  they  go  away,  they  sing. 
A  Shining  One  chastises  them  sorely  when  He 
finds  them  astray,  but  they  thank  Him  for  all  His 
kindness,  and  go  softly  along  the  right  way,  singing. 
In  the  Enchanted  Ground  Christian  sings  to  Hope- 
ful ere  he  will  converse  with  him.  And  so  again  it 
is  in  the  second  part  of  the  Progress.  Mercy  sings 
before  coming  to  the  Slough  of  Despond,  and 
Christiana  sings  a  blessing  on  the  day  that  she 
"  begun  a  pilgrim  for  to  be."  At  the  Interpreter's 
house  "there  was  also  one  that  did  sing,  and  a 
very  fine  voice  he  had.  His  song  was  this  :  '  The 
Lord  is  only  my  support,  and  He  that  doth  me 
feed,' "  etc.  Leaving  the  Interpreter's  house,  the 
family  of  pilgrims  "  went  on  their  way,  and  sang." 


SONGS  OF  PILGRIMAGE.  269 

Almost  every  incident  of  travel  and  adventure 
Mercy  turns  into  a  song.  Prudence  plays  on  "  a 
pair  of  excellent  virginals,"  and  turns  what  she 
has  showed  the  pilgrims  into  "  an  excellent  song." 
When  they  are  gone  from  the  Shepherds  they 
break  forth  into  song,  for  that  they,  though  pil- 
grims, joyful  lives  may  live.  Gladdened  to  the 
heart  they  are  by  overhearing  in  the  grove  "  a  most 
curious  melodious  note,"  with  words  of  devout 
praise,  while  another  answers  it,  hymning  the  good- 
ness of  God,  whose  mercy  is  for  ever  sure  ;  glad- 
dened, too,  by  overhearing  in  the  fields  the  song  of 
the  shepherd  boy  in  very  mean  clothes,  but  of  a 
fresh  and  well-favoured  countenance,  who  is  tending 
his  father's  sheep  ;  "  and  as  he  sat  by  himself  he 
sang,  ...  *  He  that  is  down,  need  fear  no  fall,  he 
that  is  low,  no  pride  ;  he  that  is  humble,  ever  shall 
have  God  to  be  his  guide.' "  Then  again  we  have 
the  song  of  Valiant,  "  Who  would  true  valour  see, 
let  him  come  hither,"  with  its  refrain,  "  to  be  a  pil- 
grim." And  once  more,  and  last  of  all,  at  Mr. 
Greatheart's  discourse  with  Standfast  there  is  a 
mixture  of  joy  and  trembling  among  the  pilgrims  ; 
"  but  at  length  they  broke  out  and  sang,"  and  after 
that  they  came  into  the  land  of  Beulah,  where  the 
sun  shineth  night  and  day. 

But  a  later  poet,  not  wanting  (as  Bunyan  did)  the 
accomplishment  of  verse,  has  taught  us  that 


270  SOFT  MUSIC  IN  CITY  DIN. 

"  Light  flashes  in  the  gloomiest  sky, 

And  Music  in  the  dullest  plain, 
For  there  the  lark  is  soaring  high 

Over  her  flat  and  leafless  reign, 
And  chanting  in  so  blithe  a  tone, 
It  shames  the  weary  heart  to  feel  itself  alone." 

And  elsewhere  he  reminds  us,  wayfarers  through 
city  streets  and  slums,  that 

"  There  are  in  this  loud  stunning  tide 

Of  human  care  and  crime, 
With  whom  the  melodies  abide 

Of  th'  everlasting  chime  ; 
Who  carry  music  in  their  heart 

Through  dusky  lane  and  wrangling  mart, 
Plying  their  daily  task  with  busier  feet, 
Because  their  secret  souls  a  holy  strain  repeat" 

In  one  stage  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,   where 

Christian  sings,  after  he  and  Faithful  have  made  a 

good  riddance   of  Talkative,  we  are  told  of  their 

colloquies,  including  the  frequent  snatches  of  song, 

that   these    ''made  the    way   easy,   which   would 

otherwise  no  doubt  have  been  tedious  to  them,  for 

now  they  went  through  a  wilderness."     To  apply 

the  lines  of  a  very  different  author, 

"  Voila  les  pelerins  en  route  : 
A  pied  nous  chantons  *  en  marchant." 

*  That  is  better  than  the  resource  adopted  by  La  Fontaine's 
two  pilgrims,  le  Chat  et  le  Renard,  who,  when  they  "  s'en 
allaient  en  pelerinage,"  betook  themselves  to  controversy,  to 
beguile  the  way  : 


SONGS  TO   SHORTEN  THE    WAY.         271 

Cantantcs  ut  camus,  says  Virgil's  shepherd, 
"  Cantantes  licet  usque  (minus  via  Icedef)  eamus." 
The  aid  and  appliance  is  made  available  in  Evan- 
geline : 

"  Even  as  pilgrims,  who  journey  afar  from  their  home  and 
their  country, 
Sing  as  they  go,  and  in  singing  forget  they  are  weary  and 
wayworn." 

Says  the  Saracen  to  the  Knight  in  Scott's  Talis- 
man, as  together  they  traverse  the  desert, — "  I 
cheer,  to  the  best  of  my  power,  a  gloomy  road  with 
a  cheerful  verse.  What  saith  the  poet, — '  Song  is 
like  the  dews  of  Heaven  on  the  bosom  of  the 
desert ;  it  cools  the  path  of  the  traveller.'  "  Wamba 
and  the  Black  Knight  in  Ivanhoe  shorten  the  sense 
of  their  long  journey  through  the  forest  by  part- 
singing, — the  clown  bearing  a  mellow  burden  to 
the  better  instructed  cavalier.  Mendelssohn  de- 
scribes himself,  in  one  of  his  letters  of  travel,  toil- 
ing his   way    quite   alone   through   the   Bavarian 

"  Le  chemin  £tant  long,  et  partant  ennuyeux, 
Pour  l'accourcir  ils  disputerent. 
La  dispute  est  d'un  grand  secours : 
Sans  elle  on  dormirait  toujours." 

Dante  opens  the  twenty-fourth  canto  of  his  Purgatory  with 
the  pregnant  lines, — 

"  Our  journey  was  not  slacken' d  by  our  talk, 
Nor  yet  our  talk  by  journeying,  still  we  spake, 
And  urged  our  travel  stoutly." 


272  WAYFARERS  IN  FULL    VOICE. 

mountains,  with  Switzerland  in  view,  unable  to 
procure  a  guide,  but  gladdening  himself  with  song  : 
"  I  am  now  quite  perfect  in  the  Swiss  jodcln  and 
crowing,  so  I  shouted  lustily,  and  jodclled  several 
airs  at  the  pitch  of  my  voice,  and  arrived  at  Tour- 
gen  in  capital  spirits."  Many  a  less  light-hearted, 
and  infinitely  less  musical  a  wayfarer  has  found 
the  like  vocalization  a  capital  resource  for  ensuring 
an  effect  the  flat  opposite  of  that  announced  by  the 
ayytXog  in  Sophocles  : 

X'  ovtojs  656s  fipaxeta,  ylyverca  /xaKpd. 

Milton  makes  even  his  fallen  angels 

"  Move  on  in  silence  to  soft  pipes,  that  charm' d 
Their  painful  steps  o'er  the  burnt  soil." 

Dr.  John  Case  is  quoted  in  Mr.  Chappell's  Popu- 
lar Music  of  the  Olden  Time  as  saying  that  every 
troublesome  and  laborious  occupation  useth  music 
for  a  solace  and  recreation  ;  "  and  hence  it  is  that 
wayfaring  men  solace  themselves  with  songs,  and 
ease  the  wearisomeness  of  their  journey,  consider- 
ing that  music,  as  a  pleasant  companion,  is  unto 
them  instead  of  a  waggon  on  the  way."  * 

*  And  hence  it  is,  he  goes  on  to  say,  that  manual  labourers, 
and  mechanical  artificers  of  all  sorts,  keep  such  a  chanting 
and  singing  in  their  shops  :  "  the  tailor  on  his  bulk,  the 
shoemaker  at  his  last,  the  mason  at  his  wall,  the  shipboy  at 
his  oar,  the  tinker  at  his  pan,  and  the  tiler  on  the  housetop." 


SINGIXG  AT    WORK.  171 

"  While  many  a  merry  lay  and  many  a  song 
Cheer'd  the  rough  road,  we  wish'd  the  rough  road 
long,»- 

is   the   testimony   of  the   wayfarers    in   Johnson's 

poem. 

M.  Simonin,  in  his  account  of  the  miners  in  the  mountains  of 
the  Tuscan  Maremna  singing  at  their  work,  and  singing  well, 
cannot  resist,  as  one  of  his  reviewers  in  this  country  said  at 
the  time,  the  temptation  of  a  playful  hit  at  our  dull  islanders. 
"In  England,"  he  says,  referring  to  the  mining  population, 
"the  women  and  girls  either  do  not  sing,  or,  if  they  do,  sing  out 
of  tune."  Good  authority  assures  us  that  the  Cornish  people 
are,  like  all  their  allied  races,  strongly  imbued  with  a  taste 
for  music/ and  that  the  women  when  engaged  in  similar  tasks 
to  those  of  the  Italians,  breaking  up  metallic  ore  at  the  surface, 
etc.,  are  noted  for  singing  choruses  in  parts  with  a  correctness 
rarely  exceeded,  unless  perhaps  in  Germany.  Mr.  Charles 
Reade  tells  us  of  the  dredging-song  of  the  fisherman  of  the 
Firth  of  Forth,  that  this  old  song  is  money  to  them.  And  thus 
he  demonstrates  his  proposition  : — dredging  is  practically  very 
stiff  rowing  for  ten  hours  ;  and  the  fishermen  are  agreed, 
alike  those  of  Newhaven  and  their  rivals,  that  this  song  lifts 
them  through  more  work  than  untuned  fishermen  can  manage. 
Mr.  Reade,  having  heard  the  song,  and  seen  the  work  done 
to  it,  inclines  to  think  it  helps  the  oar,  not  only  by  keeping 
the  time  true,  and  the  spirit  alive,  but  also  by  its  favourable 
action  on  the  lungs.  "  It  is  sung  in  a  peculiar  way  :  the 
sound  is,  as  it  were,  expelled  from  the  chest  in  a  sort  of 
musical  ejaculations ;  and  the  like,  we  know,  was  done  by 
the  ancient  gymnasts  ;  and  is  done  by  French  bakers,  in  lift- 
ing their  enormous  dough,  and  by  our  paviors."  Readers  of 
Great  Expectations  will  remember  the  song  Joe  Gargery  used 
to  hum  fragments  of  at  the  forge,  of  which  the  burden  was 
Old  Clem,  whom  Mr.  Dickens  takes  to  have  stood  in  the 

18 


274  SINGING  AT  WORK. 

During  the  military  passage  of  St.  Bernard  in 
1800,  the  ascent  from  the  village  of  St.  Pierre  to 

relation  of  a  patron  saint  towards  smiths  ;  the  song  imitated 
the  measure  of  beating  upon  iron  ;  but  Old  Clem  seems  to 
have  been  in  no  sense  identical  with  Handel's  Harmonious 
Blacksmith.  Readers  of  Goethe  may  recall  Jetter  the  tailor, 
\r\  Egmofit,  sitting  at  his  work,  humming  a  French  psalm, 
thinking  nothing  about  it,  neither  good  nor  bad,  but  singing 
it  just  because  it  is  in  his  throat ;  yet  forthwith  pounced  upon 
as  a  heretic,  and  clapped  into  prison.  Readers  of  La  Fon- 
taine will  bethink  them  of  the  cobbler  who  sang  from  morning 
to  night,  while  his  rich  neighbour  had  no  heart  for  singing, 
and  negotiated  with  him  on  the  subject.  Readers  of  the  old 
dramatists  may  hold  in  lively  remembrance  the  chatter  of  the 
citizen's  wife  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  who  so  delights  in 
old  Merryth ought's  maxim,  "  Never  trust  a  tailor  that  does 
not  sing  at  his  work  !  his  mind  is  on  nothing  but  filching." 
"  Mark  this,  George,"  the  good  woman  bids  her  husband ; 
'tis  worth  noting  :  Godfrey,  my  tailor,  you  know,  never 
sings  ;  and  he  had  fourteen  yards  to  make  this  gown ; 
and  I'll  be  sworn  Mistress  Penistone,  the  draper's  wife,  had 
one  made  with  twelve."  To  quite  another  category  as  well  as 
another  age  belongs  the  sweet  Puritan  girl  of  The  Ministers 
Wooing,  who,  as  she  moves  about  at  her  household  work, 
sings  snatches  of  old  psalm  tunes,  making  the  Doctor,  as  he 
listens,  think  about  angels  and  the  Millennium.  "  Solemnly 
and  tenderly  there  floated  in  at  his  open  study  window, 
through  the  breezy  lilacs,  mixed  with  low  of  kine,  and  bleat 
of  sheep,  and  hum  of  early  wakening  life,  the  little  silvery 
ripples  of  that  singing,  somewhat  mournful  in  its  cadence,  as 
if  a  gentle  soul  were  striving  to  hush  itself  to  rest."  As 
charmed  the  Doctor  is  as  we  find  Felix  Mendelssohn  to  have 
been  when  he  was  extemporizing  one  day  in  his  lodgings  in 
Rome,  and  heard  suddenly  a  splendid  contralto  voice  repeat 


SINGING  IN  HARNESS.  275 

the  summit  being  painful  and  laborious  in  the  ex- 
treme, the  soldiers — a  hundred  of  them  harnessed 
to  each  gun,  and  relieved  by  their  comrades  every 
half  mile — were  inspirited  to  the  toil  by  the  music 
of  each  regiment  playing  at  its  head  ;  and  they 
animated  each  other  by  warlike  songs,  the  solitudes 
of  the  Alps  resounding  with  their  strains.  "I'll 
sing  to  thee,"  says  one  footsore  exile  to  another,  in 
a  dramatic  fragment  of  Mr.  Procter's,: — 

"  I'll  sing  to  thee, 
And  cheer  thee  on  our  melancholy  march. 
Tis  said  men  fight  the  better  when  they  hear 


a  theme  out  of  his  Fantasia.  His  friends  too  listened  :  it  was 
a  voice  that  had  often  entranced  them  ;  the  young  maid  in  the 
landlady's  service  was  in  the  habit  of  singing  popular  Italian 
airs  while  at  her  work.  On  that  day,  however,  his  biographer 
relates,  Mendelssohn  started  up  in  surprise.  Through  the 
opened  window  the  songstress  was  to  be  seen,  packing  all 
sorts  of  fruit  into  a  large  basket.  "  Oh,  if  I  could  only  once 
hear  her  sing  near  ! "  exclaimed  the  maestro.  "  Call  her  in, 
then,"  his  companions  urged.  "  But  will  she  come  ?  "  The 
painters  were  bolder  than  the  musician,  and  persuaded  her 
to  come  in  ;  and  she  sang,  and  Mendelssohn  accompanied 
her  extempore  as  she  sang.  But  he  may,  after  all,  and  in 
the  long  run,  have  liked  best  to  hear  her  singing  in  her  own 
way,  and  that  was  at  work.  Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  he 
provided  for  the  musical  education  of  this  girl  in  the  most 
self-sacrificing  manner  ;  and  by  the  testimony  of  one  of  his 
most  distinguished  pupils,  the  simple  maid  of  the  Piazza 
d'Espagna  became  an  excellent  singer,  renowned  for  the 
culture  of  her  rare  contralto  voice. 


276  SONGS  OF  PILGRIMAGE. 

Sweet  music  ;  ay,  endure  fatigue  and  thirst, 
Hunger  and  such  poor  wants." 

Sorrowful  is  the  speaker  ;  and  sorrowing  Cowper 
would  have  said,  not  after  a  godly  sort,  but  rather 
one  of  those  he  describes  as  ignorant 

"  That  Scripture  is  the  only  cure  of  woe. 
That  field  of  promise,  how  it  flings  abroad 
Its  odour  o'er  the  Christian's  thorny  road  ! 
The  soul,  reposing  on  assured  belief, 
Feels  herself  happy  amidst  all  her  grief, 
Forgets  her  labour  as  she  toils  along, 
Weeps  tears  of  joy,  and  bursts  into  a  song." 


277 


XVI. 
feongtf  of  (Cjrile, 

Psalm  cxxxvii.  3,  4* 

BY  the  waters  of  Babylon,  there  the  Hebrew 
exiles  sat  down  ;  and  there  they  wept,  when 
they  remembered  Zion.  Their  harps  they  hanged 
upon  the  willows  in  the  midst  thereof.  Weeping, 
they  were  required  by  their  captors  to  sing ;  those 
who  wasted  them  required  of  them  mirth :  "  Sing 
us  one  of  the  songs  of  Zion."  "  How  shall  we  sing 
the  Lord's  song  in  a  strange  land  ? " 

The  Hebrew  Melodies  bid  weep  for  those  that 
wept  by  Babel's  stream,  whose  shrines  are  desolate, 
whose  land  a  dream  ;  weep  for  the  harp  of  Judah's 
broken  spell ;  for, 

"  When  shall  Sion's  songs  again  seem  sweet? 
And  Judah's  melody  once  more  rejoice 
The  hearts  that  leap'd  before  its  heavenly  voice  ?  n 

They  sat  down  and  wept  by  the  waters  of  Babel, 
and  thought  of  the  day  when  their  foe,  in  the  hue 


278  SONGS  OF  EXILE. 

of  his  slaughters,  made  Salem's  high  places  his 
prey.  The  stranger  demanded  the  song,  while 
sadly  they  gazed  on  the  river  which  rolled  on  in 
freedom  below  ;  but  there  was  no  singing  the  old 
songs  to  strangers,  in  a  strange  land.  Least  of 
all  a  song  of  mirth. 

"  Twas  hard  to  sing  by  Babel's  stream — 
More  hard  in  Babel's  street," 

is  Mrs.  Browning's  testimony.  And,  for  one  at 
least,  the  Leatherstocking  of  romance  (to  whose 
worth,  by  the  way,  she  has  paid  printed  homage) 
would  heartily  have  echoed  her  assertion  *  Hard 
enough,  whether  by  stream  or  in  street,  to  any  one 
that  realizes,  in  Schlegel's  sense,  the  alienation  of 
human  nature  from  its  true  home.  "When  the 
soul,"  writes  the  elder  Schlegel,  "  resting  as  it  were 
under    the    willows   of    exile,f    breathes    out    its 

*  Summoned  by  the  convivial  German  major  to  pay  his 
table-dues  of  song, — " Letter-stockint,  vilt  sing?  say,  olt 
poy,  vilt  sing  ter  song,  as  upout  ter  woots?"the  hunter's 
reply,  with  a  melancholy  shake  of  the  head,  is,  "  No,  no, 
Major  ;  I  have  lived  to  see  what  I  thought  eyes  could  never 
behold  in  these  hills,  and  I  have  no  heart  left  for  singing." — 
The  Pioneers,  ch.  xiv. 

t  Trauerweiden  der  Verbannen,  literally,  the  weeping 
willows  of  banishment ;  the  Salices  BabyloniccE,  as  Linnaeus 
termed  them,  by  way  of  express  reference  to  the  137th 
Psalm.  Schlegel  is  defining  melancholy  to  be  the  essence 
of  northern  poetry,  and  explaining  why. 


THE  MURMUR   OF  THE   SHELL.  279 

longing  for  its  distant  home,  what  else  but  melan- 
choly can  be  the  key-note  of  its  songs  ? "  The 
strains  thus  inspired  may  be  likened  to  the  murmur 
of  the  shell,  which 

"  remembers  its  august  abodes, 
And  murmurs  as  the  ocean  murmurs  there."  * 

*  The  famous  lines  from  Landor^s  Gebir.  A  parallel 
passage  in  Wordsworth  bred  contention  about  priority  and 
plagiarism  of  imagery.  In  The  Excursion  the  Rydal  poet 
speaks  of  having  seen  a  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract  of 
inland  ground,  applying  to  his  ear 

"The  convolutions  of  a  smooth-lipped  shell ; 
To  which,  in  silence  hushed,  his  very  soul 
Listened  intensely  ; — for  from  within  were  heard 
M itr m urings  "whereby  the  monitor  expressed 
Mysterious  union  with  its  native  sea." 

Byron,  in  The  Island,  speaks  of  Ocean's  mimic  murmurer 
in  the  shell,  "  as,  far  divided  from  his  parent  deep,  the  sea- 
born infant  cries  and  will  not  sleep,  raising  his  little  plaint  in 
vain,  to  rave  for  the  broad  bosom  of  his  nursing  wave."  So 
a  later  poet  tells  of  the  wide  shore's  hollow  shells,  vocal  with 
music  of  the  spirits  of  the  foam, 

"Which  murmur,  in  the  language  of  the  deep, 
Though  haply  far  away,  to  one  who  keeps 
Such  ocean  wealth  to  grace  an  inland  home." 

Dr.  Holmes,  describing  that  longing  for  the  ocean  breeze 
which  those  who  have  once  breathed  and  salted  their  blood 
with  it,  never  get  over,  and  which  makes  the  sweetest  inland 
airs  seem  to  them  at  last  tame  and  tasteless,  goes  on  to  pic- 
ture young  Myrtle  Hazard  holding  a  tiger-shell  to  her  ear, 
and  listening  to  that  low,  sleepy  murmur,  whether  in  the 
sense  or  in  the  soul  we  hardly  know,  like  that  which  had 
so  often  been  her  lullaby— a  memory  of  the  sea,  as  Lando* 


28o   SEA-SHELLS  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  SEA. 

For,  as  a  greater  poet,  in  his  great  ode  on  Inti- 
mations of  Immortality,  has  it,  the  soul  cometh 


and  Wordsworth  have  sung.  Of  Lando^s  lines  an  enthu- 
siastic critic  (if  enthusiasm  and  criticism  be  compatible) 
has  said,  that  never,  in  remotest  time,  shall  any  one  who 
has  once  heard  or  read  them  gaze  into  the  white  depth  of 
the  child  of  ocean,  or  apply  his  ear  to  its  polished  coolness, 
and  hear,  or  seem  to  hear,  the  faint  and  far-off  murmur  of 
the  main,  without  imagining  these  to  be  the  words  which  the 
gentle  oracle  is  uttering,  and  this  the  meaning  of  the  spiritual 
and  mysterious  music. 

The  author  of  the  Chronicles  of  Clovernook  was  fond  of 
turning  to  didactic  uses  the  sea-shell's  message  from  the  sea. 
His  Hermit,  of  that  ilk,  waxes  eloquent  about  the  pinky  shells 
upon  the  shore,  "  voiced  with  wondrous  singing.  Place  one 
of  them  to  your  ear,  and  its  voice  will  call  up  in  your  breast 
all  the  long  mute  music  of  your  early  days,  when  life  dreamt 
not  of  hope,  the  present  was  so  full  of  happiness.  The  shell 
will  sing  to  you  sweet  familiar  sounds  of  the  past,  blended 
with  tones  that  harmonize,  and  yet  are  richer,  deeper,  sweeter 
than  the  air  departed ;  as  though  some  higher  spirit  caught 
the  dying  strain,  continuing  it  in  more  melodious  volume." 
So  in  the  parable  of  the  Sick  Giant  and  the  Doctor 
Dwarf,  when  Zim  made  the  Giant  place  a  shell  to  his  ear, 
he  listened  and  listened,  and  smiles  crept  over  his  face  ; 
and  his  eyes  softened  at  the  sound  ;  and  then  he  placed 
the  shell  at  his  heart,  as  though  it  spoke  to  that.  "  Why," 
says  Lieutenant  Tackle,  in  Retired  from  Biisiness,  "I  can 
take  one  of  those  shells,  clap  it  to  my  ear,  and  dream  I  am 
eighteen  again — eighteen,  and  once  more  in  Banana  Bay." 
Hartley  Coleridge  brings  us  a  freight  of  crimson  shells,  that 
mock  the  things  of  earth  with  semblance  quaint, 

"  Imperial  cradles  of  purpureal  sheen, 
And  wreathed  trumpets,  curiously  convolved, 


SONGS  OF  THE  SAD-HEARTED.        281 

from  afar — from  God,  who  is  our  home ;  and  in  a 
season  of  calm  weather,  though  inland  far  we  be, 
our  souls  catch  echoes  of  the  immortal  sea, 

"  And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore." 
A  trite  experience  in  human  life  is  the  sadness 
of  the  player,  or  singer,  who,  outwardly  smiling, 
with  a  smile  lip-deep  only,  and  expressive  of 
nothing  deeper,  unless  it  be  depth  of  sorrow,  is 
constrained  to  play  or  sing.  As  with  the  glee- 
maiden  in  Scott's  tale  of  Perth,  whose  gaiety  was 
assumed,  as  a  quality  essentially  necessary  to  her 
trade,  of  which  it  was  one  of  the  miseries  that  the 
professors  were  obliged  frequently  to  cover  an 
aching  heart  with  a  compelled  smile. 

Wherein  the  ocean's  mighty  harmonies 
Serenely  murmur  in  a  humming  slumber." 

And  W.  E.  Aytoun,  in  his  Blind  Old  Milton,  has  a  simile 

about 

"the  low  murmurs  of  the  Indian  shell 
Taken  from  its  coral  bed  beneath  the  wave, 

Which,  unforgetful  of  the  ocean's  swell, 
Retains  within  its  mystic  urn,  the  hum 
Heard  in  the  sea-grots,  where  the  Nereids  dwell." 

The  Sighing  of  tJie  Shell  is  the  subject  of  a  little  poem 
of  Mr.  George  Macdonald's,  with  diverse  interpretations  ot 
the  burden  of  its  undersong,  all  however  suggestive  and 
sweet.  And  the  Delta  of  ancient  Maga,  David  Macbeth 
Moir,  has  a  tender  sonnet,  beginning, 

"As  speaks  the  sea-shell  from  the  window-sill 
Of  cottage-home,  far  inland,  to  the  soul 
Of  the  bronzed  veteran,  till  he  hears  the  roll 
Of  ocean  'mid  its  islands  charing  still." 


282  SORROW  IN  SONG. 

"  Then  who  can  ask  for  notes  of  pleasure, 

My  drooping  harp,  from  chords  like  thine  ? 
Alas,  the  lark's  gay  morning  measure 
As  ill  would  suit  the  swan's  decline." 

The  trouble-tried  widow  Vincent,  in  Salem 
Chapel,  constrains  herself,  with  the  heroism  of  a 
martyr,  to  add  her  soft  voice,  touched  with  age, 
yet  still  melodious  and  true,  to  the  song  of  praise. 
The  words  choke  her  as  she  utters  them,  yet  with 
a  kind  of  desperate  courage  she  keeps  on.  "Praise! 
— it  happened  to  be  a  very  effusive  hymn  that 
day,  an  utterance  of  unmitigated  thanksgiving," 
and  wonderful  is  said  to  have  been  the  "  bitter 
difference  between  the  thanks  she  was  uttering  and 
the  position  in  which  she  stood."  Mechanically 
she  sang  on,  "with  her  white  face  set  in  pale 
steadfastness," — "  her  hands  holding  fast  to  the 
book  ;  and  over  the  ache  of  frightful  suspense  in 
her  heart  came  the  soft  voice  of  her  singing." 
There  is  a  song  of  slaves,  in  the  most  popular  of 
slave  stories,  sung  (at  command)  very  boisterously, 
and  with  a  forced  attempt  at  merriment ;  but  no 
wail  of  despair,  the  author  insists,  no  word  of 
impassioned  prayer,  could  have  had  such  a  depth 
of  woe  in  them  as  the  wild  notes  of  the  chorus  : 
"  as  if  the  poor,  dumb  heart,  threatened — prisoned 
— took  refuge  in  that  inarticulate  sanctuary  of 
music,  and   found  there  a  language  in  which   to 


LES  LARMES  DANS  LA    VOIX.  283 

breathe  its  prayer  to  God."  So,  after  a  sort,  with 
the  Caterina  in  George  Eliot's  first  fiction,  to  whom, 
in  her  heartbreak  of  misery,  it  was  always  a  relief 
to  sing  :  the  full  deep  notes  she  sent  forth  seemed 
to  be  lifting  the  pain  from  her  heart,  and  to  be 
carrying  away  the  madness  from  her  brain.  In  no 
sense  applicable  to  her  would  be  the  opening 
couplet  of  Waller's  verses  Of  my  Lady  Lsabclla, — 

"  Such  moving  sounds  from  such  a  careless  touch  ! 
So  unconcern'd  herself,  and  we  so  much  !  " 

But  in  every  sense  applicable  is  that  expressive 
fragment  of  Moore's — 

"  Ah,  little  they  think  who  delight  in  her  strains, 
How  the  heart  of  the  minstrel  is  breaking." 

That  old  song  of  his  childhood,  the  air  of  which 
was  all  he  remembered,  except  just  a  few  detached 
words,  Rousseau  could  never  recall  without  tin 
charme  attendrissatit,  never  sing  without  larmes 
dans  la  voix  as  well  as  in  the  eyes.  "  II  m'est  de 
toute  impossibility  de  la  chanter  jusqu'a  la  fin 
sans  etre  arrete  par  mes  larmes."  Thus  writes 
Jean  Jacques  in  his  Confessions.  The  English 
Opium-eater,  in  kis,  avowed  that  "often  when  I 
walk,  at  this  time,  in  Oxford  Street,  by  dreamy 
lamplight,  and  hear  those  airs  played  .  .  .  which 
years  ago  solaced  me  and  my  dear  youthful  com- 
panion, I  shed  tears,  and  muse  with  myself  at  the 


284        SINGER  CHOKED  BY  HIS  TEARS. 

mysterious  dispensation  which  so  suddenly  and  so 
critically  separated  us  for  ever."  But  the  player 
in  tears  at  his  own  playing,  the  singer  hysterical 
over  his  own  singing,  is  nothing  preternatural, 
whether  in  books  or  in  real  life.  Charles  Wolfe, 
the  author  of  the  celebrated  stanzas  on  the  Burial 
of  Sir  John  Moore,  adapted  a  pathetic  lyric  to  the 
Irish  air  GrammacJirce,  after  singing  the  air  over 
and  over  till  he  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears, — in 
which  mood  he  composed  the  song  in  question,  "  If 
I  had  thought  thou  couldst  have  died."  Thomas 
Moore  writes  in  his  diary,  of  an  evening  at  Madame 
de  Flahault's,  in  1820,  when  he  sang,  as  usual,  but 
scarcely  in  his  usual  spirits  :  "  If  I  had  given  way, 
should  have  burst  out  a-crying ;  as  I  remember 
doing  many  years  ago  at  a  large  party  at  Lady 
Rothes'.  No  one  believes  how  much  I  am  some- 
times affected  in  singing,  partly  from  being  touched 
myself,  and  partly  from  an  anxiety  to  touch  others." 
Elsewhere  he  tells  how  Miss  Emmett  one  night 
burst  into  tears  before  she  was  half-way  through 
singing  his  "Weep  on,  your  hour  is  past,"  and 
started  up  from  the  pianoforte  in  a  passion  of  sobs. 
In  1829,  soon  after  the  loss  of  one  of  his  children, 
Moore  records  this  experience  of  his  at  an  evening 
with  "  the  Fieldings.  Attempted  to  sing  .... 
but  just  at  the  last  line,  when  I  had  with  difficulty 
restrained   myself  throughout,    the  violent    burst 


MOORE'S  FITS  OF  SOBBING.  285 

came  ;  and  for  near  ten  minutes  (to  the  great  alarm 
of  the  girls,  who  fled  out  of  the  room)  I  continued 
to  sob  as  if  my  chest  was  coming  asunder."  A  few 
weeks  later  we  light  on  the  following  entry  again — 
referring  to  his  being  forced  to  sing  at  Lord 
Anglesey's,  where,  the  moment  he  sat  down  at  the 
pianoforte,  he  felt  that  he  should,  in  his  own  words, 
make  a  fool  of  himself :  "  The  melancholy  sound 
of  my  own  voice  [in  '  Keep  your  tears  for  me '] 
quite  overpowered  me ;  and  had  I  not  started  up 
instantly,  I  should  have  burst  into  one  of  my 
violent  sobbing  fits,  which,  before  strangers,  would 
have  been  dreadful.  I  never  was  better  pleased 
than  to  find  myself  in  the  street  once  more."  It  is 
of  an  evening  at  Bowood,  nearly  ten  years  later, 
that  the  diarist  makes  this  mention  :  "  I  sat  down, 
and  began,  unluckily,  with  ■  There's  a  song  of  the 
olden  time/  ....  and  the  melancholy,  both  of 
the  song  and  of  my  own  voice,  affected  me  so 
much,  that  before  I  had  sung  the  first  two  lines 
I  broke  out  into  one  of  those  hysterical  fits  of 
sobbing  which  must  be  as  painful  to  others  as 
they  are  to  myself,  and  was  obliged  to  hurry  away 
into  the  next  room." 

There  is  a  fantasy-piece  of  Hawthorne's  in  which 
Burns  is  urged  by  a  fellow-bard  to  sing  his  own 
song  to  Mary  in  Heaven;  but  as  soon  as  the 
feeling  of  those  verses,  "  so  profoundly  true,  and 


286  WEBER  MOVED   TO   TEARS. 

so  simply  expressed,  "touched  him,  "the  tears 
immediately  gushed  into  his  eyes,  and  his  voice 
broke  into  a  tremulous  cackle."  Says  dying  Cata- 
rina  to  Camoens, — anticipating  a  day  when  the 
palace  ladies,  sitting  round  his  gittern,  shall  have 
said,  "  Poet,  sing  those  verses  written  for  the  lady 
who  is  dead," — 

"  Will  you  tremble,  yet  dissemble, — 
Or  sing  hoarse,  with  tears  between, 
'Sweetest  eyes  were  ever  seen'?" 

On  the  occasion  of  the  Klopstock  Jubilee — held 
at  Ouedlinburg,  in  July  1824— Madame  Funk  sang 
"  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,"  with  unusual 
power  and  fervour ;  insomuch  that  Weber,  who 
had  the  direction  of  the  musical  festivities,  and 
who  had  been  wont  to  speak  of  this  air  as  "  an 
emanation  of  the  greatest  artistic  inspiration,  com- 
bining the  most  masterly  scientific  treatment  with 
the  noblest  expression  of  Christian  joy  and  love," 
was  very  deeply  moved.  No  man,  his  biographer 
assures  us,  had  a  greater  horror  than  Weber  him- 
self of  any  expression  of  strong  emotion  before  the 
face  of  men.  But  on  this  occasion,  though  he 
struggled  long  and  stoutly  with  the  overpowering 
feelings,  of  religious  reverence  and  artistic  enthu- 
siasm conjoined,  which  agitated  him — the  more  so 
from  the  then  shattered  state  of  his  nervous  system 


MENDELSSOHN'S  EMOTION.  287 

— he  struggled  in  vain.  "  All  on  a  sudden  he  let 
fall  his  baton,  buried  his  face  between  his  hands 
on  his  desk,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears."  And 
it  was  long  before  he  could  recover  himself  from 
the  effect  of  this  emotion. 

The  first  time  that  Mendelssohn  resumed  the 
direction  of  the  Leipzig  concerts,  after  the  death 
of  his  mother  (in  1842),  when  the  alto  sang,  piano, 
"Wie  der  Hirsch  schreit,"*  he  was  so  overcome 
that  he  was  obliged  afterwards  to  go  out  of  the 
room,  to  give  free  vent  to  his  tears. 

At  the  first  performance  of  his  masterpiece,  the 
"Elijah,"  at  Birmingham,  in  the  summer  of  1846, 
"  a  young  English  tenor,"  writes  Mendelssohn  to 
his  brother,  without  however  naming  the  singer, 
(it  was  that  admirable  vocalist  Mr.  Lockey — one 
whose  finely  cultivated  voice,  and  pure,  unaffected 
style,  were  lost  too  soon  for  the  oratorio  in 
England) — "a  young  English  tenor  sang  the  last 
air  with  such  wonderful  sweetness,  that  I  was 
obliged  to  collect  all  my  energies  not  to  be  affected, 
and  to  continue  beating  time  steadily." 

Madame  Polko's  Reminiscences  of  Mendelssohn 
give  us  young  Felix  in  his  teens  playing  the  E  flat 
major  Concerto  of  Moscheles,  to  the  composer, 
with  such  power  and  spirit  as  to  bring  tears  into 

*  From  his  own  psalm,  op.  42. 


288  MENDELSSOHN'S  MASTERY  OF  EMOTION. 

the  composer's  eyes.  In  a  later  section  we  have 
him  one  evening  at  Diisseldorf,  when  revisiting  old 
friends  there,  himself  now  a  father,  and  acquainted 
with  grief,  seated  after  supper  at  the  piano,  with 
his  little  son  Karl  on  his  knee  ;  playing  at  first  as 
if  in  a  dream,  while  the  child  sat  motionless,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  his  father's  hands.  "  He  then  gently 
put  him  down,  though  the  handsome  boy  continued 
to  stand  beside  him,  and  Mendelssohn  played  on 
and  on,  every  moment  more  beautifully,  more 
touchingly,  until  all  those  around  were  in  tears ; 
and  when  he  ceased,  sighs  and  low  sobs  alone 
betrayed  the  overwhelming  impression  he  had 
made."* 

Of  his  correspondent,  the  Baroness  Dorothea 
Ertmann,  and  her  relations  with  Beethoven,  a 
characteristic  story  is  told.  Beethoven  daily  fre- 
quented her  house  in  Vienna,  and  taught  her  his 
sonatas  ;  but  his  severe,  gruff  manner  was  pre- 
dominant, and  sometimes  he  would  absent  himself 

*  Again;  at  an  organ-concert  in  honour  of  Bach,  Mendels- 
sohn's own  grand  finale  was  an  extemporized  reverie,  so  to 
speak,  on  what  his  biographer  calls  "the  most  deeply  touching 
choral  melody  in  the  world," — O  Haupt  veil  Bhtt  und 
Wunden  / — and  no  musician  of  the  modern  time,  she  assures 
us,  was  seated  above  in  the  organ-loft.  "  No  !  it  was  the  old 
and  marvellous  Sebastian  Bach  himself  playing  there.  Sacred 
awe  pervaded  the  souls  of  the  listeners,  and  tears  rushed  to 
eyes  that  had  long  since  ceased  to  weep." 


CRYING  AND  MAKING   CRY. 


for  weeks  together,  "  in  a  sulky  humour,  though 
he  always  came  back,  sooner  or  later."  When  the 
Baroness  lost  the  last  of  her  children,  Beethoven's 
sorrow  was  right  earnest ;  but  his  way  of  express- 
ing it  (and  could  there  be,  for  him,  a  more  excellent 
way?)  was  by  coming  and  extemporizing  at  the 
piano  as  she  sat  beside  him.  Tears  choked  her 
utterance  when  he  closed  his  improvisation  pathe- 
tique ;  and  he  at  once  got  up  and  left  the  room. 
Full  heart,  few  words. 

Very  many  will  remember  well  Mr.  Thackeray's 
mention,  in  one  of  his  first  set  of  lectures,  of  a 
French  actor  in  whose  company  he  dined  once 
(once  was  presumably  enough),  and  who  began,  at 
his  own  request,  to  sing  French  songs  of  the  sort 
called  dcs  chansons  grivoiscs,  which  he  performed 
admirably,  and  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  most 
persons  present ;  and  who,  having  finished  these, 
commenced  a  sentimental  ballad,  and  sang  it  so 
charmingly  that  it  touched  all  the  company,  and 
especially  the  singer  himself,  whose  voice  trembled, 
whose  eyes  filled  with  emotion,  and  who  "was 
snivelling  and  weeping  quite  genuine  tears  by  the 
time  his  own  ditty  was  over."  Fresh  among  the 
memories  of  Bleak  House  is  Mr.  Harold  Skimpole 
playing  snatches  of  pathetic  airs,  and  sometimes 
singing  to  them,  with  great  expression  and  feeling. 
His  song  about  a  peasant  boy,  "thrown  on  the 

19 


290  RANZ  DES   VACHES  : 

wide  world,  doom'd  to  wander  and  roam,"  which 
he  warbled  u  quite  exquisitely,"  always  made,  him 
cry,  he  said. 

It  takes  a  Swiss  ear  to  absorb  the  "  plenary  in- 
spiration "  of  the  Ranz  dcs  Vadics :  at  least  others 
beside  Wordsworth  have  owned  themselves  unable 
to  detect  the  motive  power  *  of  that  famous  strain. 


*  The  elder  Disraeli,  in  his  magnum  opus,  devotes  a  para- 
graph to  the  Ranz  des  Vaches,  founded  on  Rousseau's  article 
in  his  Dictionary  of  Music,  and  which,  though  without  any- 
thing striking  in  the  composition,  has  such  a  powerful 
influence  over  the  Swiss,  and  has  before  now  possessed  them 
with  so  vehement  a  longing  to  return  to  their  own  country, 
that  "  it  is  forbidden  to  be  played  in  the  Swiss  regiments  in 
the  French  service  on  pain  of  death.  There  is  also  a  Scotch 
tune  which  has  the  same  effect  on  some  of  our  North  Britons." 
—Cur.  of  Lit.,  First  Series,  §  87. 

Boswell  records  himself  satisfied  that  much  of  the  effect  of 
music  is  owing  to  the  association  of  ideas  :  "  That  air  which, 
instantly  and  irresistibly,  excites  in  the  Swiss,  when  in  a 
foreign  land,  the  maladie  du  pays,  has,  I  am  told,  no  intrinsic 
power  of  sound." — Life  of  Johnson,  sub  ano  1777. 

Young  Frederick  Perthes  had  not  been  long  in  Leipzig 
when  he  wrote  home  letter  after  letter  detailing  how  many 
"  sweet  recollections  of  Schwartzburg  "  were  nestling  in  his 
heart  of  hearts.  For  example  :  "  Here,  in  a  neighbouring 
village  called  Gohlis,  there  is  a  cowherd  who  blows  his  horn 
as  skilfully  as  the  Schwartzburg  trumpeter  of  yore.  I  can 
hear  him  in  my  bed,  and  you  cannot  imagine  what  a  strange 
feeling  comes  over  me,  and  the  peculiar  kind  of  sadness  to 
which  it  gives  rise." — Life  of  Perthes,  ch.  i. 

Mrs.  Schimmelpenninck  expatiates  on  the  delight  with  which 


THE  SWISS  SONG   OF  REMEMBRANCE.  2()i 

"  I  listen,"  says  Wordsworth — and  the  listening  is 
surely  from  a  favourable  standpoint,  on  the  top  of 
the  Pass  of  St.  Gothard, — 

"  I  listen — but  no  faculty  of  mine 
Avails  those  modulations  to  detect, 
Which,  heard  in  foreign  lands,  the  Swiss  affect 
With  tenderest  passion  ;  leaving  him  to  pine 
(So  fame  reports)  and  die, — his  sweet-breathed  kine, 
Remembering,  and  green  Alpine  pastures  decked 
With  vernal  flowers.     Yet  may  we  not  reject 
The  tale  as  fabulous." 

It  not  merely,  as  Hazlitt  has  said,  recalls  to  the 
Swiss  peasantry  the  image  of  their  country,  but 
has  associated  with  it  a  thousand  nameless  ideas, 
numberless  touches  of  private  affection,  of  early 
hope,  romantic  adventure,  and  national  pride,  all 
which  rush  in  (with  mingled  currents)  to  swell  the 
tide  of  fond  remembrance,  and  make  them  languish 
or  die  for  home.  u  What  a  fine  instrument  the 
human  heart  is  !     Who  shall  touch  it  ?     Who  shall 

she  used  to  hear  her  Swiss  governess  and  Swiss  bonne — both 
of  them  musical  and  passionately  patriotic — sing  in  parts 
the  Ranz  dcs  Vaches.  "  Never  can  I  forget  the  deep  pathos 
of  that  song  ;  every  note  thrilled  through  the  soul ;  and  I 
think  a  Swiss  could  scarcely  have  felt  it  more  than  I  ;  whilst 
the  mountains,  clad  in  snow,  or  bright  in  varied  light,  the 
Lake  of  Geneva,  with  the  Rhone  gliding  through  it,  the  Jura, 
Lausanne,  the  rocks  of  Meillerie  and  Yverdun,  seemed  to 
rise  before  my  mind  almost  with  the  vividness  of  sight." — 
Autobiogr.)  i.  25. 


292  SONGS  OF  EXILE. 


fathom  it  ?  Who  shall  '  sound  it  from  its  lowest 
note  to  the  top  of  its  compass '  ?  Who  shall  put 
his  hand  among  the  strings,  and  explain  their  way- 
ward music  ?"  All  the  world  knows  that  there  is 
nothing  which  revives  memories  like  music,  says 
Dr.  Croly ;  and  he  pictures  effectively  in  one  of 
his  fictions  a  group  of  French  emigres  overcome  by 
the  songs  of  France  in  a  strange  land  :  the  airs 
which  they  had  heard  and  sung  from  their  infancy; 
the  airs  of  their  early  companionships,  hopes,  and 
perhaps  loves  ;  sung  in  their  gardens,  their  palaces, 
at  their  parents'  knees,  by  the  cradles  of  their 
children,  at  their  firesides, — everywhere  combining 
with  the  heart.  "  No  power  of  poetry,  nor  even  of 
the  pencil,  could  have  brought  the  past  so  deeply, 
so  touchingly,  with  such  living  sensibility  before 
them."  Some  are  described  as  weeping  silently 
and  abundantly,  while  others  buried  their  faces  on 
their  knees,  and  by  the  heaving  of  their  bosoms 
alone  showed  how  they  felt ;  some  sat  with  their 
large  eyes  fixed  on  heaven,  and  their  lips  moving 
as  in  silent  prayer ;  others  almost  knelt,  with 
hands  clasped  and  eyes  bent  down,  in  palpable 
supplication.* 

*  See  the   seventh   chapter  of  Croly's  Marston.      In  an 

earlier  one,  the  very  mention  among  the  emigres,  by  a  newly 

arrived  exile  from  France,  of  Gretry's  renowned,  historically 

enowned  air,  O  Richard,  O  mon  7'oi!  produces  a  similar 


SCOTCH  SONGS  IN  A   STRANGE  LAND.  293 

The  Abbe  Morellet  relates  of  Franklin,  from 
whom  he  heard  the  incident,  that  while  travelling 
beyond  the  Alleghany  Mountains,  he  chanced 
upon  the  sequestered  home  of  a  Scotchman,  with 
whom  he  sojourned  for  a  while,  and  whose  wife, 
one  fine  evening,  as  she  sat  in  front  of  their  door, 
sang  the  Scotch  air,  "  Sae  merry  as  we  hae  a' 
been,"  in  so  soft  and  touching  a  manner,  that  the 
travelled  American  melted  into  tears,  and  the 
impression  was  still  vivid  in  his  mind  after  a  lapse 
of  thrice  ten  summers.  If  so  cool-tempered,  not 
to  say  cold-blooded,  a  personage  as  that  most 
unsentimental  Benjamin,  could  be  thus  moved  to 
the  centre  of  his  being,  by  a  melody  not  of  his 
own  native  land,  who  shall  wonder  at  the  effect 
of  Scotch  airs  on  Scotch  ears  ?  Delta  (Moir) 
commemorates  the  ancient  melody  of  the  green 
"  Bush  beyond  Traquair,"  that  from  the  steep  o'er- 
hangs  the  Tweed  ;  hearing  which,  mayhap  afar, 

"  In  realms  beyond  the  separating  sea, 
The  plaided  Exile,  'neath  the  evening  star, 
Thinking  of  Scotland,  scarce  forbears  to  weep." 


effect.  "  The  name  was  electric.  All  began  that  delicious 
air  at  the  moment.  Sobs  and  sighs  stole  in  between  the 
pauses  of  the  harmony.  Their  rich  and  practised  voices  gave 
it  the  sweetness  and  solemnity  of  a  hymn.  Fine  eyes  were 
lifted  to  heaven  ;  fine  faces  were  buried  in  their  clasped 
hands  ;  and  the  whole  finished  like  the  closing  of  a  prayer." 
(ch.  iv.) 


294  SONGS  OF  SCOTLAND. 

So  Byron  tells  us  how  "  Auld  lang  syne  "  brought 
Scotland  before  him  again, — Scotch  plaids,  Scotch 
snoods,  the  blue  hills  and  clear  streams — all  his 
boy  feelings,  all  his  gentler  dreams.*  Another 
stanza  of  his  sounds  the  praise  of 

"  the  home 
Heart-ballads  of  Green  Erin  or  Grey  Highlands, 

*  Rambling  with  Scott  among  the  pastoral  regions  of 
Tvveedside,  Washington  Irving  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  when 
first  he  saw  the  broom-covered  tops  of  the  Cowden  Knowes, 
and  gazed  on  Ettrick  Vale,  Gala  Water,  and  the  Braes  of 
Yarrow  ;  for  at  every  turn  there  was  brought  to  his  mind  some 
household  air — some  almost  forgotten  song  of  the  nursery, 
by  which  he  had  been  lulled  to  sleep  in  his  childhood  ;  and 
with  these  the  looks  and  voices  of  those  who  had  sung  them, 
and  who  were  now  no  more.  It  is,  he  says,  these  melodies, 
chanted  in  our  ears  in  the  days  of  infancy,  and  connected 
with  the  memory  of  those  we  have  loved,  and  who  have 
passed  away,  that  clothe  Scottish  landscape  with  such  tender 
associations . 

To  the  aged  maiden  aunt  in  Mr.  Alexander  Smith's  house- 
hold story,  the  slow  monotonous  music  played  by  her  niece 
brings  back  a  melancholy  past :  the  past  blooms  again  as 
she  listens,  but  blooms  with  the  flowers  and  herbs  of  sorrow, 
— rue,  the  passion-flower,  and  love-lies-bleeding.  With  wist- 
ful eyes  she  looks  back  to  the  far-off  brightness  of  girlhood, 
almost  sunken  now  beneath  the  horizon  of  memory  ;  and  her 
whole  life  seems  filled  with  the  sound  of  falling  tears  and  the 
sighing  of  farewells. 

To  that  charming  old  Grand'mere  in  Miss Tytler's  Huguenot 
tale,  the  old  ballads  she  loves  to  pipe,  "  in  her  sweet,  cracked 
voice,"  over  her  lace-weaving,  "were  like  drops  of  the  nation's 
heart,  that  .  .  .  now  came  to  her,  in  green,  misty  England, 


THE  SONGS  OF  OTHER    YEARS.  295 

That  bring  Lochaber  back  to  eyes  that  roam 

O'er  far  Atlantic  continents  or  islands, 

The  calentures  of  music  which  o'ercome 

All  mountaineers  with  dreams  that  they  are  nigh  lands 

No  more  to  be  beheld  but  in  such  visions." 

with  touches  of  the  varied  coloursj  and  wafts  of  the  sweet 
odours  of  the  south."  Play  me,  she  would  have  said  with  the 
Irish  Melodist,  that  well-known  air  once  more,  for  thoughts 
of  youth  still  haunt  its  strain,  like  dreams  of  some  far,  fairy 
shore  we  never  shall  see  again. 

"  Sweet  air,  how  every  note  brings  back 

Some  sunny  hope,  some  day-dream  bright, 
That  shining  o'er  life's  early  track 
Fill'd  even  its  tears  with  light." 

For,  as  the  Melodist  elsewhere  says  or  sings,  when  through 
life  unblest  we  rove,  losing  all  that  made  life  dear,  should 
some  notes  we  used  to  love  in  days  of  childhood  meet  our 
ear, 

"  Oh,  how  welcome  breathes  the  strain  ! 

Wakening  thoughts  that  long  have  slept ; 
Kindling  former  smiles  again 

In  faded  eyes  that  long  have  wept." 

We  recognize  then,  with  a  pang,  if  with  a  pleasure,  the  voices 
of  the  dead  and  songs  of  other  years. 

When  Mrs.  Crawley,  in  Vanity  Fair,  sings  religious  songs 
of  Mozart,  which  had  been  early  favourites  of  Lady  Steyne, 
she  does  so  with  such  sweetness  and  tenderness  that  the 
lady,  lingering  round  the  piano,  sits  down  by  its  side,  and 
listens  until  the  tears  roll  down  her  cheeks.  She  is  a  child 
again,  and  has  wandered  back  through  a  forty  years'  wilder- 
ness to  her  convent  garden.  "  The  chapel  organ  had  pealed 
the  same  tunes  ;  the  organist,  the  sister  whom  she  loved  best 
of  the  community,  had  taught  them  to  her  in  those  early 
happy  days.     She  was  a  girl  once  more,  and  the  brief  period 


296  A   SONG   OF   THE   OLDEN  TIME. 

Less  than  a  thought,  as  Lady  Eastlake  says,  the 
slightest  breath  of  a  hint,  is  sufficient  to  set  the 
exquisitely  sensitive  strings  of  musical  memory 
vibrating.  "  Pictures,  poetry,  thoughts,  hatreds, 
loves,  promises  of  course,  are  all  more  fleeting 
than  tunes."  These,  she  says,  we  may  let  lie  buried 
for  years,  but  they  never  moulder  in  the  grave  ; 
they  come  back  as  fresh  as  ever,  yet  showing  the 
depth  at  which  they  have  lain  by  the  secret  asso- 
ciations of  joy  or  sorrow  they  bring  with  them. 
There  is  no  such  pitiless  invoker  of  the  ghosts 
of  the  past,  she  adds,  as  one  bar  of  a  melody  that 
has  been  connected  with  them ;  nor  does  any  such 
sigh  escape  from  the  heart  as  that  which  follows 
in  the  train  of  some  musical  reminiscence. 

There  is,  in  Moore, — and  where  indeed  is  there 
not  ? — a  song  of  the  olden  time,  falling  sad  on  the 


of  her  happiness  bloomed  out  again  for  an  hour."  Observe 
too  the  effect  of  Mercy's  singing  on  Mr.  Reade's  Griffith 
Gaunt — (though  Mercy  has  nothing  of  Becky  Sharpe  about 
her,  but  comes  of  an  old  Puritan  stock,  and  even  her  songs 
are  not  giddy-paced,  but  solid,  quaint,  and  tender ;  all  the 
more  do  they  reach  the  soul)  :  "  Griffith  beat  time  with  his 
hand  awhile,  and  his  own  face  softened  and  beautified  as  the 
melody  curled  about  his  heart.  But  soon  it  was  too  much 
for  him ;  he  knew  the  song  ;  had  sung  it  to  Kate  Peyton 
in  their  days  of  courtship.  A  thousand  memories  gushed  in 
upon  his  soul  and  overpowered  him.  He  burst  out  sobbing 
violently,  and  wept  as  if  his  heart  must  break." 


MEMORIAL  MELODIES.  297 


ear,  like  the  dream  of  some  village  chime,  which  in 
youth  we  loved  to  hear. 

11  Give  me  that  strain  of  mournful  touch 

We  used  to  love  long,  long  ago, 
Before  our  hearts  had  known  so  much 

As  now,  alas  !  they  bleed  to  know. 
Sweet  notes  !  they  tell  ©f  former  peace, 

Of  all  that  look'd  so  smiling  then, 
Now  vanish'd,  lost — oh,  pray  thee,: cease, 

I  cannot  bear  those  sounds  again." 

As  the  Prince  de  Ligne  used  to  say  of  les  souve- 
nirs, though  so  constantly  called.. doux.  et  tendres. 
there  is  a  harsh  bitter  too  often  in  the  bitter-sweet, 
"  On  se  trouve  si  loin,  si  loin  de  ces  beaux  moments 
qui  ont  passe  si  vite,  et  qu'une  chanson  qu'on  a 
entendue  alors  .  .  .  rappelle  en  faisant  fondre  en 
larmes."  So  again  is  Madame  de  Stael  pathetic 
on  "  ces  derniers  jours  qui  repetent  d'une  voix  si 
rauques  les  airs  brillants  des  premiers." 

Gustav  Freytag  declares  of  German  emigrants, 
so  many  of  whom  lose  the  love  for  their  fatherland, 
and  even  the  power  of  speaking  their  mother-tongue 
fluently,  that  the  melodies  of  home  live  with  them 
longer  than  anything  else  ;  and  that  many  a  fool 
who  in  a  foreign  country  prides  himself  on  being 
a  naturalized  foreigner,  feels  himself  on  a  sudden 
a  German  again,  on  hearing  a  few  measures  sung 
that  he  had  heard  in  his  childhood. 


298 


XVII. 
feongg  in  tljc  $h'g$t; 

Job  xxxv.  10. 

THE  songs  in  the  night  of  which  Elihu  speaks 
are  by  him  said  to  be  the  gift  of  God.  "  In 
the  night  His  song  shall  be  with  me,"  the  Psalmist 
says ;  and  elsewhere  he  calls  to  remembrance  his 
song  in  the  night.  "  Ye  shall  have  a  song  as  in 
the  night/'  is  part  of  the  evangel  of  the  prophet  by 
distinction  designated  evangelic. 

"  Then  feed  on  thoughts  that  voluntary  move 
Harmonious  numbers  ;  as  the  wakeful  bird 
Sings  darkling,  and,  in  shadiest  covert  hid, 
Tunes  her  nocturnal  note." 

Bishop  Hall  indites  this  among  his  Occasional 
Meditations  :  "  How  sweetly  doth  this  music  sound 
in  this  dead  season  !  In  the  daytime  it  would  not, 
it  could  not,  so  much  affect  the  ear.*     All  har- 


*  In  the  Autobiography  of  the  English  Opium-eater,  mention 
is  made  of  a  little  incident  that  befell  him  in  an  obscure 


MUSIC  AFTER  MIDNIGHT.  299 

monious  sounds  are  advanced  by  a  silent  dark- 
ness. .  .  .  O  God,  whose  praise  it  is  to  give  songs 

Welsh  inn,  where,  besides  a  smoky  chimney  and  other  incon- 
veniences, the  tourist  had  to  put  up  with  the  noise  of  a  public 
dance  held  there  that  night.  The  noise  and  uproar  were 
almost  insupportable,  and  sleep  he  could  get  none.  But  at 
three  o'clock  all  became  silent,  the  company  having  departed 
in  a  body.  "  Suddenly  from  the  little  parlour  separated  from 
my  bedroom  overhead  by  the  slightest  and  most  pervious  of 
ceilings,  arose  with  the  rising  dawn  the  very  sweetest  of 
female  voices  that  ever  I  had  heard,  although  for  many  years 
an  habitud  of  the  opera.  She  was  a  stranger  ;  a  visitor  from 
some  distance.;  and  (I  was  told  in  the  morning)  a  Methodist. 
What  she  sang,  or  at  least  sang  last,  were  the  beautiful  verses 
of  Shirley,  ending — 

'  Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust.' " 

This  incident  caused  him  to  forgive  the  detrimental  c6- 
incidents  of  the  little  inn  ;  so  sweet  was  the  strain  thus  heard, 
at  such  a  season,  and  with  such  a  sense  of  relief  by  contrast. 
Even  the  Waits  o'  Christmas  nights,  if  at  all  tolerable,  and 
not  too  near,  are  more  than  tolerable,  are  welcome,  in  their 
way,  and  once  in  a  way,  to  waking  listeners  who  might 
denounce  the  same  players  by  daylight.  The  associations  of 
memory  tend  to  idealize  the  too  probably  coarse  realism  of 
these  performers  ;  and  the  listener  perhaps  essays  to  echo 
the  poet's  experience — 

"At  night  the  Waits  mix'd  with  our  dream 

Their  music  sweet  and  low  : 
We  children  knew  not,  as  we  heard, 
Each,  listening,  nestled  like  a  bird, 
Whether  from  Heaven  the  music  came, 

Or  only  over  the  snow." 

Supernatural    singing,   the   singing    under    the    mill-house 


300  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

in  the  night,  make  my  prosperity  conscionable, 
and  my  crosses  cheerful."  Mendelssohn,  in  one  of 
his  letters  from  Italy,  which  describes  an  in  every 
respect  happy  evening  with  Horace  Vernet,  and 
the  close  of  it,  when  together  they  ascended  the 
hill  towards  the  "  large  dark  villa,"  and  all  was  so 
still  and  peaceful,  adds  this  memento  (and  all  his 
memories  of  Italy  were  memorabilia) :  "  Frag- 
ments of  music  floated  on  the  air,  and  its  echoes 
in  the  dark  night,  mingled  with  the  murmuring 
of  fountains,  were  sweeter  than  I  can  describe." 
Corinne,  the  night  before  she  quits  Rome,  unable 
to  sleep,  hears  a  troop  of  Romans  singing  in  the 
moonlight,  and  is  impelled  to  follow  them  in  their 
rovings,  singing  as  they  go  "to  the  silent  night, 
when  the  happy  ought  to  sleep  ;"  "their  pure  and 
gentle  melodies  seemed  designed  to  solace  wakeful 
suffering."     Drawn  onwards  by  this  resistless  spell, 


windows  of  Christmas  carols,  Maggie  Tulliver  always  felt 
it  to  be,  in  spite  of  Tom's  contemptuous  insistence  that  the 
singers  were  old  Patch,  the  parish,  clerk,  and  the  rest  of  the 
church  choir  ;  she  trembled  with  awe  when  the  carolling 
broke  in  upon  her  dreams,,  and  the  image  of  men  in  fustian 
clothes  was  always  thrust  away  by  the  "vision  of  angels 
resting  on  the  parted  cloud."  Wordsworth  is  treating  of  the 
Christmas  Waits  in  the  Lake  district,  when  he  exclaims — 

"  How  touching,  when,  at  midnight,  sweep 
Snow-muffled  winds,  when  all  is  dark, 
To  hear — and  sink  again  to  sleep  !" 


SEDATIVE  FOR   THE  SLEEPLESS.        301 

Corinne,  insensible  to  fatigue,  seems  winging  her 
way  along  ;  and  pauses  to  listen,  now  before  the 
pillar  of  Antoninus,  now  at  Trajan's  column,  and 
anon  beside  the  obelisk  of  St.  John  Lateran.  "  The 
ideal  language  of  music  worthily  mates  the  ideal 
expression  of  works  like  these :  enthusiasm  reigns 
alone,  while  vulgar  interests  slumber."  If  thou 
wouldst  view  fair  Melrose  right,  go  visit  it  by  the 
pale  moonlight ;  and  if  good  music  be  obtainable 
to  grace  the  vision,  and  lap  another  sense  in 
Elysian  dreams,  ta,7it  mieux,  on  Madame  de  StaeTs 
showing. 

In  Thomson's  Castle  of  Indolence, 

"  When  sleep  was  coy,  the  bard,  in  waiting  there, 
Cheer'd  the  lone  midnight  with  the  muse's  lore  ; 
Composing  music  bade  his  dreams  be  fair, 
And  music  lent  new  gladness  to  the  morning  air." 

It  was,  and  may  be  still,  a  rule  with  the  Herrn- 
huters  for  two  men  to  keep  watch  nightly  in  the 
street  of  their  chief  settlement,  their  mission  being  to 
pray  for  those  who  slept,  and  to  sing  hymns  which 
might  excite  feelings  of  devotion  in  those  who  were 
awake.  A  more  likely  means  than  good  Bishop 
Burgess's  resort  to  a  musical  box  ;  for  that  pious 
prelate  habitually  kept  one  of  those  rather  finical 
instruments  by  his  bedside  ;  nor,  says  his  very  con- 
genial biographer,  Dr.  Harford,  "were  his  Songs  in 
the  Night  exclusively  the  Songs  of  Zion."     From 


302  PRISON  SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

David's  harp  of  solemn  sound,  to  the  tinklings, 
however  dulcet,  of  a  musical  box,  the  musical  in- 
terval seems  rather  too  abrupt.  And  yet  the 
proverb  measures  for  us,  to  a  nicety,  the  exact 
interspace  that  separates  the  sublime  from  the 
ridiculous. 

At  midnight,  in  the  prison  at  Philippi,  Paul  and 
Silas  prayed,  and  sang  praises  unto  God  ;  and  the 
prisoners  heard  them — heard  the  hymns,  if  not  the 
prayers.  Heard,  and  probably  wondered  ;  for,  was 
midnight  the  season  for  song  ?  were  bonds  and 
imprisonment  provocative  of  praise  ? 

Mankind  has  ever  listened  with  a  sensation  of 
surprise  to  songs  at  midnight,  warbled  by  "  spirits 
in  prison  ;"  above  all  when  the  darkness  is  the 
forecast  shadow  of  the  grave,  and  when  the  night 
gloom  is  the  very  shadow  of  death. 

Celebrated  in  Northern  literature  is  the  Kraka- 
maly  the  death-song  of  the  pirate  Ragnar  Lodbrok, 
said  to  have  been  sung  by  him  when,  being  taken 
prisoner  by  Ella,  king  of  Northumberland,  he  was 
shut  up  in  a  barrel  with  snakes.  It  ends  with  the 
famous  line,  "  Laughing  will  I  die."  If  tliat  reminds 
us,  on  the  one  hand,  of  Romeo's  query, 

"How  oft  when  men  are  at  the  point  of  death 
Have  they  been  merry  ?" 

on  the  other,  it  reminds  us  of  Prince  Henry's  words, 


SWAN  SONGS.  303 


when  Pembroke  reports  of  the  dying  king  that,  in 
extremis,  in  articulo  mortis,  "  even  now  he  sung," 

"  'Tis  strange  that  death  should  sing.— 
I  am  the  cygnet  to  this  pale  faint  swan,* 
Who  chants  a  doleful  hymn  to  his  own  death ; 
And,  from  the  organ-pipe  of  frailty,  sings 
His  soul  and  body  to  their  lasting  rest." 

*  The  swan-song  simile  has  ever  been  a  favourite  one  with 
the  poets.  Shakspeare  uses  it  of  his  Lucrece,  employing  too 
the  same  epithet,  pale  : 

"  And  now  this  pale  swan  in  her  watery  nest 
Begins  the  sad  dirge  of  her  certain  ending." 

His  dying  Emilia,  recalling  Desdemona's  Willow  song, 
exclaims, 

"  What  did  thy  song  bode,  lady? 
Hark,  canst  thou  hear  me  ?     I  will  play  the  swan, 
And  die  in  music  ; —  Willow,  willow,  willow." 

There  duly  figures  amid  Chaucer's  Assembly  of  Foules, 

"The  jelous  swan,  ayenst  his  deth  that  singeth." 

Olorum  tnorte  narratur  fiebilis  cantus,  writes  Pliny  ;  but  he 
takes  occasion  to  a.&&,  fatso  ut  arbitror  aliquot  exfierimentis. 
Sir  Thomas  Browne  enters  this  fallacy  among  his  Vulgar 
Errors.  And  thus  he  sums  up  his  view  of  the  matter  :  "When, 
therefore,  we  consider  the  dissension  of  authors,  the  falsity  of 
relations,  the  indisposition  of  the  organs,  and  the  immusical 
note  of  all  we  ever  beheld  or  heard  of,  if  generally  taken,  and 
comprehending  all  swans,  or  of  all  places,  we  cannot  assent 
thereto.  Surely  he  that  is  bit  with  a  tarantula,  shall  never 
be  cured  by  this  music  ;  and  with  the  same  hopes  we  expect 
to  hear  the  harmony  of  the  spheres."  His  previous  remarks 
recognize  the  great  antiquity  of  the  belief— the  musical  note 
of  swans  having  found  yet  earlier  commendation  than  the 


304  SWAN  SONGS. 


Tenderly   Desdemona,  herself   death-doomed,  re- 
calls  the    maid    Barbara's    moribund   snatches    of 


"  she  had  a  song  of — willow, 
An  old  thing  'twas,  but  it  express'd  her  fortune, 
And  she  died  singing  it.     That  song,  to-night, 

melody  of  Sirens.  Orpheus  became  a  swan  after  death.  But 
here  we  are  rather  concerned  with  the  moderns. 

La  Fontaine's  cuisinier,  in  his  cups,  is  about  to  make 
savour)'  meat  of  le  cygjie,  when 

"L'oiseau,  pr£t  a  mourir,  se  plaint  en  son  ramage," — 

and  the  man  intent  on  slaughter  is  overcome  by  the  strain  : 
a  throat  that  sang  like  that  ought  to  have  other  destiny  than 
the  stew-pan  : 

"Quoi !  je  mettrais,  dit-il,  un  tel  chanteur  en  soupe  ! 
Non,  non,  ne  plaise  aux  dieux  que  jamais  ma  main  coupe 
La  gorge  a  qui  s'en  sert  si  bien  !  " 

Keats  begins  his  notes  of  sweet  music  that  has  been  heard 
in  many  places  with  "  Some  has  been  upstirred  from  out  its 
crystal  dwelling  in  a  lake,  by  a  swan's  ebon  bill ; "  but  he  is 
not  thinking,  with  Ovid,  of 

"  The  swans  that  on  Cayster  often  tried 
Their  tuneful  songs,  now  sung  their  last,  and  died." 

Suggested  by  the  Phtzdon  of  Plato  is  that  sonnet  of  Words- 
worth's which  tells  how  the  poet  heard  (alas,  'twas  only  in  a 
dream)  strains — which,  as  sage  Antiquity  believed,  by  waking 
ears  have  sometimes  been  received  wafted  adown  the  wind 
from  lake  or  stream  ; 

• '  A  most  melodious  requiem,  a  supreme 
And  perfect  harmony  of  notes,  achieved 
By  a  fair  swan  on  drowsy  billows  heaved, 
O'er  which  her  pinions  shed  a  silver  gleam. 


THE  DYING  SWAN.  305 

Will  not  go  from  my  mind :  I  have  much  to  do 
But  to  go  hang  my  head  all  at  one  side, 
And  sing  it  like  poor  Barbara." 

For  is  she  not  the  votary  of  Apollo  ? 
And  knows  she  not,  singing  as  he  inspires, 
That  bliss  awaits  her  which  the  ungenial  Hollow 
Of  the  dull  earth  partakes  not,  nor  desires  ? 
Mount,  tuneful  bird,  and  join  the  immortal  quires  ! 
She  soared — and  I  awoke,  struggling  in  vain  to  follow." 

The  Dyi?ig  Swan  is  one  of  Mr.  Tennyson's  earliest  poems — 
telling  how  the  wild  swan's  death-hymn  took  the  soul  of  waste 
places  with  joy  hidden  in  sorrow  ;  a  low  warble  at  first,  but 
full  and  clear  ; 

"And  floating  about  the  under-sky, 
Prevailing  in  weakness,  the  coronach  stole 
Sometimes  afar,  and  sometimes  anear  ; 
But  anon  her  awful  jubilant  voice, 
With  a  music  strange  and  manifold, 
Flow'd  forth  on  a  carol  free  and  bold," 

which  is  likened  to  the  rejoicing  of  a  mighty  people  with 
shawms,  and  cymbals,  and  harps  of  gold,  the  tumult  of  whose 
acclaim  is  rolled  through  the  open  gates  of  the  city  afar,  to 
the  shepherd  who  watcheth  the  evening  star.  By  the  wild 
swan's  death-hymn,  the  creeping  mosses  and  clambering 
weeds  and  hoar  dank  willow  branches,  and  the  soughing 
reeds,  and  the  silvery  marish- flowers  among  desolate  creeks 
and  pools,  "were  flooded  over  with  eddying  song."  And 
what  is  the  ending  of  the  king  who  hied  him  to  the  island- 
valley  of  Avilion, — what  the  morte  d?  Arthur  ? 

"So  said  he,  and  the  barge  with  oar  and  sail 
Moved  from  the  brink,  like  some  full-breasted  swan 
That,  fluting  a  wild  carol  ere  her  death," 

ruffles  her  pure  cold  plume,  and  takes  the  flood  with  swarthy 
webs.  Again,  the  Earl's  old  minstrel,  in  Owen  Meredith's 
poems,  whom,  with  his  long  white  hair  and  golden  harp, 

20 


306  SWAN  SONGS. 


There  is  another  passage  in  Shakspeare  on  music 
for  the  moribund,  which  might  do  for  motto  to 

they  watch  roving  back  to  the  burning  halls  of  his  master* 
"  chanting  a  lonely  lay,"  is  described  as 

•'  Chanting  and  changing  it,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Like  the  mournful  mad  melodious  breath 
Of  some  wild  swan  singing  himself  to  death, 
As  he  floats  down  a  strange  land  leagues  away." 

By  poetical  licence,  consecrated  by  tradition,  this  melody  is 
ever  assumed  to  be  of  ravishing  sweetness.  The  swan's  is 
by  prescription  of  Parnassus,  emphatically  a  dulcet  voice,  a 
douce  voix  : 

"Tel  qu'au  jour  de  sa  mort,  pour  la  derniere fois 
Un  beau  cygne  soupire,  et  de  sa  douce  voix, 
De  sa  voix  qui  bientot  lui  doit  dtre  ravie, 
Chante,  avant  de  partir,  ses  adieux  a  la  vie." 

But  even  poets  are  constrained  to  become  prosaic  on  the 
subject,  when  they  merge  poetics  in  matter-of-fact  natural 
history.  Walter  Savage  Landor  could  make  as  much  melody 
out  of  a  swan  song  as  most  of  his  contemporary  bards,  when 
le  cha.7it  du  cygiie  was  his  cue  ;  but  in  his  Imaginary  con- 
versations Tersitza  talks  with  Odysseus  about  the  "low 
hoarse  voices  "  of  two  swans,  old  friends  of  hers,  on  the  lake, 
and  goes  on  to  quote  Agatha's  assertion  "  that  their  voices 
are  not  always  low  and  hoarse,"  and  that  when  they  are  about 
to  die  they  sing  delightfully.  "  I  was  glad,"  quoth  Tersitza, 
u  the  poor  creatures  had  many  years  to  live,  for  they  certainly 
had  made  no  progress  in  their  singing."  So  Lord  Lytton 
somewhere  takes  note  of  that  low  hissing  salutation,  which, 
it  is  to  be  hoped,  they  change  for  something  less  sibilant  in 
that  famous  song  with  which  they  depart  this  life.  And  in 
another  place  he  refers  to  the  half  snort  and  half  grunt,  to 
which  change  of  time  or  climate  has  reduced  the  vocal 
accomplishments  of  those   classical  birds,  so  pathetically 


MUSICIAN'S  REQUIEM.  307 

Mozart's  Requiem,  according  to  the  story,  be  it 
myth  or  not,  which  asserts  its  composition  to  be 
the  utterance  of  his  own  Requiescam  : 

"  Cause  the  musicians  play  me  that  sad  note 
I  named  my  knell," 

Katharine  of  Aragon  bids  her  good  Griffith, — the 
while  she  meditates  on  that  celestial  harmony  she 
goes  to.  However  it  may  have  been  with  Mozart, 
Adolf  Hasse,  the  once  accepted  rival  of  Handel, 
some  years  before  his  death  composed  a  Requiem 
for  his  own  funeral,  which  was  duly  applied  to  the 
intended  purpose,  and  which  is  said  to  be  a  work 
affording  evidence  of  unabated  vigour  at  an  ad- 
vanced period  of  his  life. 

Mr.  Hogarth,  in  his  History  of  Music,  after  re- 

melodious  in  the  age  of  Moschus,  and  on  the  banks  of 
Cayster.  It  is  only  by  poetical  licence  the  swan-song  is 
supposed  to  be  melodious  or  pathetic  now ;  or  by  way, 
perhaps,  of  sarcastic  similitude,  as  in  the  Rape  of  the  Lock  : 

"Thus  on  Mseander's  flow'ry  margin  lies 
Th'  expiring  swan,  and  as  he  sings  he  dies." 

The  swan  songs  of  prose  romance  are  typified  in  the  story 
of  the  boy  minstrel  in  Antonina,  upon  whose  ear,  at  the  close 
of  his  song  to  Glyco,  the  applause  of  the  guests  falls  noiseless. 
His  voice  had  changed  as  he  sang  to  an  almost  unearthly 
tone,  and  those  who  turned  to  look  at  him  saw  a  change  in 
the  face  as  well.  A  spasm,  a  fall,  and  all  was  over.  "  We 
have  heard  the  note  of  the  swan  singing  its  own  funeral 
hymn,"  the  patrician  Placidus  placidly  remarks. 


308  DEATH  OF  HAYDX. 

cording  Haydn's  composition  of  that  national  hymn 
of  Austria  which  mainly  constitutes  the  popularity 
of  his  Quartet  in  C,  No.  77,  and  which  he  expressly 
composed  for  the  Emperor  Francis,  to  whom  the 
old  maestro  was  greatly  attached,  goes  on  to  de- 
scribe Papa  Joseph's  anxiety  for  the  Kaiser's  safe 
return  to  Vienna,  in  1S09  ;  the  French  beginning  to 
bombard  the  city  on  the  10th  of  May.  Four  bombs 
fell  close  to  Haydn's  dwelling,  and  their  explosion 
filled  his  little  household  with  terror.  "  He  roused 
himself,  and  getting  up  from  his  chair,  rebuked  his 
servants  with  dignity  for  their  want  of  firmness. 
But  the  effort  was  too  much  for  him  ;  he  was  seized 
with  a  convulsive  shivering,  and  carried  to  bed. 
His  strength  continued  to  diminish ;  yet  on  the 
26th  of  May  he  caused  himself  to  be  placed  at  the 
pianoforte,  where  he  again  sang  the  national  hymn, 
God  preserve  the  Emperor,  three  times  over,  with  all 
his  remaining  energy.  It  was  the  song  of  the  swan. 
While  he  sat  at  the  pianoforte,  he  fell  into  a  state 
of  stupor,  and  at  length  expired,  on  the  morning 
of  the  31st  of  May,"  in  his  seventy-ninth  year.  Of 
Chopin's  last  hours  the  account,  as  elsewhere  given, 
is,  that  feeling  the  approach  of  death,  he  was  intent 
on  bidding  a  last  farewell  to  the  instrument  which 
had  given  utterance  to  his  poetic  inspirations,  and 
had  been  musically  and  materially  the  making  of 
him.     So  a  piano  was  brought  to  his  bedside,  and 


CHOPIN,  LAB  LA  CHE.  309 

with  icy  hands  and  clouded  vision  he  attempted  to 
draw  a  few  sounds  from  it.  "  A  sweet  and  touch- 
ing melody,  deeply  expressive  of  regret,  was  whis- 
pered forth ;  but  the  musician  was  unable  to 
complete  his  pathetic  improvisation.  He  fell  back 
on  his  bed  of  suffering,  and  expired  a  few  hours 
aftenvards."  Then  again  of  the  great  basso — phy- 
sically great,  as  well  as  artistically — Lablache,  we 
read,  that  he  attempted  to  sing  upon  his  death-bed, 
that  he  might  in  death,  as  he  had  done  in  life, 
assert  his  devotion  to  his  art.  "  Go  to  the  piano," 
he  bade  one  of  his  children,  "  and  accompany  me." 
The  son,  struggling  to  conceal  his  emotion,  obeyed. 
Lablache  then  sang  the  first  verse  of  our  English 
Home,   sweet  home*      At    the    second   verse   the 

*  That  is  the  tune  to  which  a  popular  novelist  makes  his  old 
fantoccini  man  "play  himself  out"  of  life  when  his  time  comes. 
"  '  Hick'ry,'  says  he,  '  the  performance  is  over ;  but  I  tell  you 
what  I  should  like  to  do, — just  to  play  that  old  tune  when 
the  skeleton  used  to  come  up  in  the  fantysceny  before  he 
tumbled  to  bits.  'Where's  the  pipes?'  Now,  you  see  the 
curious  thing  was  we  hadn't  worked  them  dolls — not,  not  for 
years.  Well,  we  gave  him  the  pipes,  and  he  began  to  play 
Home,  siveet  home,  quite  slow,  as  he  used.  And  when  he 
came  to  the  part  where  the  skeleton  fell  to  pieces,  down  he 
went,  all  of  a  heap,  just  as  the  doll  did  ;  and  never  spoke 
again.  Played  himself  out,  regularly."  The  factor  in  Scott's 
Zetland  story  says  of  Claud  Halcro  and  his  fiddle,  "  whilk, 
I  am  apt  to  think,  wad  skirl  at  his  father's  death-bed,  or  at 
his  ain,  sae  lang  as  his  fingers  could  pinch  the  thairm." 


3io  SONGS  OF  THE   DYING. 

singer's  throat  contracted,  and  not  a  note  could 
issue  from  it.     That  night  he  died. 

Of  William  Blake,  the  artist,  who  died  (1827)  in 
his  seventieth  year,  we  are  told  by  Mr.  Smith,  that 
on  the  day  of  his  death  he  "  composed  and  uttered 
songs  to  his  Maker,  so  sweetly  to  the  ear  of  his 
Catherine  [wife  for  forty-five  years  past],  that  when 
she  stood  to  hear  him,  he,  looking  upon  her  most 
affectionately,  said,  '  My  beloved  !  they  are  not 
mine.  No  !  they  are  not  mine!'"  Or  as  his  bio- 
grapher* describes  the  scene, — in  that  plain  back 
room,  but  a  few  yards'  remove  from  the  roaring 
Strand,  "  he  lay  chanting  Songs  to  Melodies,  both 
the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  but  no  longer  as 
of  old  to  be  noted  down.  To  the  pious  songs  fol- 
lowed, about  six  in  the  summer  evening,  a  calm 
and  painless  withdrawal  of  breath ;  the  exact 
moment  almost  unperceived  by  his  wife,  who  sat 
by  his  side."  Another  account,  by  a  "  now  distin- 
guished painter,"  records  of  Blake,  that,  just  before 
he  died,  his  countenance  became  fair,  his  eyes 
brightened,  and  he  "  burst  out  into  singing  of  the 
things  he  saw  in  heaven." 

When  the  days  of  Thomas  Moore  were  dwindled 
to  a  span,  he  would  sing,  or  ask  his  wife  to  sing  to 
him,  the  favourite  airs  of  his  past  days.     Even  the 

*  Gilchrist,  Life  of  Blake,  voL  i.,  p.  361. 


SELF-SUNG   TO  SLEEP,  IN  DEATH.       311 

day  before  his  death,  as  Earl  Russell  tells  us,  he  (in 
his  Bessie's  phrase)  "  warbled."  His  Diary  and  his 
letters  contain  a  plurality  of  instances  of  the  same 
kind,  mostly  in  his  own  family,  as  though  it  ran  in 
the  blood.  In  18 16  we  find  him  writing  to  his 
fast  friend  and  constant  correspondent,  Miss  God- 
frey,— "  We  have  had  a  melancholy  event  among 
us  lately  :  a  lovely  young  girl  of  eighteen,  left  us 
a  bride,  and  in  six  weeks  afterwards  was  a  corpse. 
During  her  last  delirium  she  sang  several  of  my 
sacred  songs,  of  which  the  poor  girl  was  a  most 
enthusiastic  admirer."  In  1829  the  poet  suffered 
the  bitter  loss  of  his  darling  child  Anastasia,  whom 
he  describes  essaying  her  voice  in  song  again  and 
again — especially  on  one  occasion,  his  own  "  When 
in  death  I  shall  calm  recline."  And  when,  four- 
teen years  later,  Moore  was  again  bereaved  of  a 
beloved  child, — this  time  his  younger  boy,  Russell, 
— after  recording  with  a  thankful  heart  that  the 
"  poor  little  fellow  suffers  but  little  pain,"  his 
father  adds :  "  A  night  or  two  since  he  was  sing- 
ing over  some  of  his  favourite  songs,  and,  indeed, 
sang  himself  to  sleep." 

That  Captain  Hamilton,  of  the  Abercorn  family, 
whose  portrait  was  one  of  the  first  painted  by 
Sir  .  Joshua  Reynolds,  lost  his  life  at  sea,  while 
imprudently  venturing  in  a  boat  from  his  ship  to 
land  at  Plymouth,  on  a  tempestuous  day,  all  in  his 


312  SONGS  OF  THE  DYING. 

impatience  to  rejoin  his  wife  ashore.  The  boat 
turned  keel  upwards,  and  the  captain,  being  a  good 
swimmer,  trusted  to  his  skill,  and  would  not 
accept  of  a  place  on  the  keel,  but,  that  he  might 
leave  room  there  for  others,  clung  merely  to  the 
edge  of  the  boat  His  great-coat  was  a  hindrance 
to  him,  and  this  he  attempted  to  throw  off ;  but, 
in  the  words  of  Lord  Eliot,  whose  too  are  the 
italics,  "  finding  his  strength  fail,  he  told  the  men 
he  must  yield  to  his  fate,  and  soon  afterwards  sank 
while  singing  a  psalm!  '* 

The  Confederate  General  J.  E.  B.  Stuart,  that 
"model  of  Virginian  cavaliers  and  dashing  chief- 
tains," who  received  his  death-wound  in  the  early 
summer  campaign  of  1864,  and  whose  loss  occa- 
sioned more  painful  regret  than  that  of  any 
Southern  leader  since  Stonewall  Jackson,  is  said 


*  Mr.  Carlyle  may  well  call  it  a  "  characteristic  trait"  in  his 
favourite  Friedrich  Wilhelm,  as  that  "wild  son  of  Nature" 
lay  a-dying,  that  on  a  certain  German  hymn  which  he  "much 
loved"  being  sung  to  him,  or  along  with  him, — when  they 
came  to  the  words,  "Naked  I  came  into  the  world,  and  naked 
shall  I  go  out," — "No,"  said  he,  with  vivacity,  "not  quite 
naked ;  I  shall  have  my  uniform  on."  After  which  the  singing 
went  on  again. — With  vivacity.  Akin,  say,  to  that  with  which 
the  mother  of  Henri  Quatre — not  left  the  world,  but  brought 
her  son  into  it ;  for  historians,  without  romancing,  tell  us  she 
had  sung  a  gay  Bearnese  song  as  her  brave  boy  was  coming 
into  the  world  at  Pau. 


DEATH  CONFRONTED    WITH  SONG.      313 

to  have  turned  to  the  Episcopal  clergyman  who 
attended  him '  at  the  last,  and  asked  him  to  sing 
the  hymn,  "  Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me,  let  me  hide 
myself  in  Thee," — and  Stuart  himself  joined  in  the 
singing  with  all  the  voice  and  strength  that  re- 
mained to  him. 

On  the  memorable  night,  as  Gibbon  designates 
it,  when  the  church  of  St.  Theonas  was  invested 
by  the  troops  of  Syrianus,  the  archbishop,  Atha- 
nasius,  seated  on  his  throne,  expected,  with  calm  and 
intrepid  dignity,  the  approach  of  death.  "While 
the  public  devotion  was  interrupted  by  shouts  of 
rage  and  cries  of  terror,  he  animated  his  trembling 
congregation  to  express  their  religious  confidence 
by  chanting  one  of  the  psalms  of  David."  * 


*  Gibbon,  Rom.  Empire,  ch.  xxi. 

A  deep  impression  was  made  on  Wesley,  during  his  outward 
passage  to  America  with  the  Moravians,  by  the  circumstance 
that,  during  imminent  peril  from  a  storm  at  sea,  they  calmly 
sang  on, — with  death,  but  not  the  fear  of  death,  before  their 
eyes.  Having  admired  their,  meekness,  and  tranquillity,  and 
freedom  from  every  trace  of  resentment,  during  the  earlier 
part  of  the  voyage,  Wesley,  was  now  curious,  as  Southey 
relates  the  incident,  "  to  see  whether  they  were  equally 
delivered  from  the  spirit  of  fear,  and  this  he  had  an  opportu- 
nity of  ascertaining.  In  the  midst  of  the  psalm  with  which 
they  began  their  service,  the  sea  broke  over,  split  the  main- 
sail, covered  the  ship,  and  poured  in  between  the  decks,  as  if, 
he  says,  the  great  deep  had  already  swallowed  us  up.  A 
dreadful  screaming  was  heard  among  the  English  colonists ; 


3U  SINGING  AT  THE  STAKE. 

Jerome  of  Prague,  bound  naked  to  the  stake, 
continued  to  sing  hymns  with  his  "  deep  un- 
trembling  voice" — that  voice  which  was  ever  "  clear, 
sweet,  sonorous,"  and  with  "a  certain  dignity"  in 
its  accents.  The  Christian  hero  could  emulate 
the  Pagan  braves  of  whom  Strabo  tells  us  they 
pealed  forth  the  psean  of  victory  from  the  cross  to 
which  Roman  cruelty  had  nailed  them.  So  the  old 
Germans  would  sing  their  death-song  in  the  midst 
of  torture.     The  Red  Indians  *  would  do  that  too. 

the  Moravians  calmly  sang  on.  Wesley  afterwards  asked 
one  of  them,  if  he  was  not  afraid  at  that  time.  He  replied, 
1 1  thank  God,  no  ! '  He  was  then  asked  if  the  women  and 
children  were  not  afraid.  His  answer  was,  '  No  >  our  women 
and  children  are  not  afraid  to  die.' " — Southe/s  Life  of  Wesley, 
ch.  iii. 

*  Fenimore  Coopers  tales  have  familiarized  us  all  with  ex- 
amples of  this, — and  not  all  his  Red  Indian  fictions  are  devoid, 
or  defiant,  of  fact.  The  Leatherstocking  testifies  to  his  know- 
ledge of  the  redskins  singing  their  death-songs,  with  their  flesh 
torn  with  splinters,  and  cut  with  knives,  the  fire  raging  round 
their  naked  bodies,  and  death  staring  them  in  the  face.—  The 
Pathfinder,  ch.  ii.  The  aged  Indian  John,  in  another  story, 
though  past  recognizing  familiar  faces, — his  own  blackening 
with  the  last  shadow, — begins  to  sing,  in  low  guttural  tones, 
his  notes  rising  with  his  theme  till  they  swell  to  fulness  ;  and 
the  priest  inquires  of  Leatherstocking,  with  tender  interest, 
what  it  is  he  sings,  whose  praise  ? — to  be  answered,  His  own  ; 
the  redskin's  vaunt  of  victories  achieved  and  of  prowess  once 
supreme. — The  Pioneers,  ch.  xxxviii.  In  yet  another  of  these 
tales  wc  have  David,  the  precentor,  in  the  belief  that  his  last 
hour  is  come,  and  with  the  war-whoop  of  the  savages  in  his 


GUILLOTINE  CHANTS.  315 

It  is  very  French,  the  marching  of  the  Girondins 
to  the  guillotine,  singing  in  full  chorus  A  lions, 
enfans  de  la  patrie,  Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive ; 
and  still  singing  as  the  executions  went  on,  one 
voice  the  less  each  time,  the  dwindling  remnant 
never  ceasing  to  chanter*  with  firm  voices,  as  their 


ears,  breaking  forth  in  a  loud  and  impassioned  strain,  for  he 
essays  to  smooth  his  passage  into  the  other  world  by  singing 
the  opening  verse  of  a  funeral  anthem. — The  Last  of  the 
Mohicans,  ch.  xxvii. 

*  There  is  a  nice  touch  of  discrimination  in  Father  Prout's 
rendering  into  French  the  fate  of  the  too  notorious  Larry  in 
the  Irish  ballad.  In  the  original,  Larry  meets  his  fate  with 
unostentatious  fortitude — not  a  syllable  about  singing ;  for 

"  Not  one  word  did  poor  Lany  say." 

Whereas,  the  French  version  runs — 

"  Le  trajet  en  chantant  il  fit, 
La  chanson  point  ne  fut  un  psaume  " — 

his  ruling  passion  for  theatrical  display,  i.e.,  the  French 
Larry's,  being,  as  an  English  critic  observes,  strong  in  death. 
When  Latour  was  guillotined  at  Foix,  in  1864,  for  the 
murder  of  a  family  in  four  persons,  great  was  the  throng  in 
the  streets,  despite  the  heavy  rain  that  fell ;  for,  to  ensure  a 
good  attendance,  the  condemned  man  had  announced  his 
intention  to  compose  for  the  occasion  a  series  of  verses,  which 
he  would  sing  on  his  way  (in  the  cart,  vis-a-vis  with  messieurs 
the  headsmen)  from  prison  to  scaffold.  And  sing  them  he 
did,  all  the  way, — a  matter  of  some  three  hundred  and  fifty 
yards.  Lightly  he  tripped  up  the  steps  of  the  scaffold,  and 
then,  after  a  deliberate  survey  of  the  crowd  below  and  all 
around,  he  thundered  forth,  tonna,  the  following  lines — a 


316  GUILLOTINE   CHANTS. 

friends  gone  before  were  successively  beheaded  ; 
until  one  voice  alone  was  left  to  chanter  the 
Marseillaise — it  was  that  of  Vergniaud,  who,  as 
leader  of  the  Girondins,  was  chosen  to  suffer  last. 
"  They  all  died,"  writes  one  historian  of  those 
times,  "with  the  resolution  of  Romans,  chanting 
with  their  last  breath  the  hymn  of  the  Revolution." 
A  year  later,  a  similar  but  more  Christian-like 
scene  occurred,  when  all  the  nuns  of  the  Abbey  of 
Montmartre,  with  the  lady  abbess,  were  executed 
together :  they  began  to  chant  the  Salve  Rcgina 
as  they  left  the  doors  of  the  Conciergerie,  and  con- 
tinued singing  the  whole  way  through  the  streets 
to  the  scaffold  ;  nor  did  the  devout  strain  end 
until  the  head  of  the  last  of  the  nuns — there  were 
eighteen  of  them — had  fallen  beneath  Saint  Guil- 
lotine. There  were  spectators,  and,  in  the  French 
sense,  assistants,  who   were   capable  of  putting  a 


parody,  or  rather  say  a  personal  appropriation,  of  the  Mar- 
seillaise : 

"Allons,  pauvre  victime, 
Ton  jour  de  mort  est  arrive1 : 
Contre  toi  de  la  tyrannie 
Le  couteau  sanglant  est  \ev6  1" 

Being  then  tied  to  the  plank  and  flung  into  the  usual  hori- 
zontal position  in  order  to  be  brought  under  the  blade,  he  still 

went  on — Allons,  pauvre  victime,  Ton  jour  de  mort 

— until  a  heavy  sound  was  heard,  the  blade  fell,  something 
else  fell  with  it,  and  all  was  over. 


JOINVILLE:  S  DYING   CHAPLAIN.  317 

question  as  heartless  as  that  of  the  rustic  in  the  fable, 
already  cited,  who  said  to  the  roasting  shell-fish, 
"  Oh,  ye  Cockles !  near  to  death,  wherefore  do  ye 
sing?"  It  is  a  tradition  in  Corsica,  that  when  St.  Pan- 
taleon  was  beheaded,  the  caput  mortuum,  as  it  might 
have  been  thought,  rose  from  the  block  and  sang. 

Full  as  Joinville  is  of  a  touching  sensibilite  which 
gives  emphasis  and  relief  to  his  characteristic 
gaiete,  and  which  finds  expressions  en  traits  simples 
et  rapidcs,  there  are  perhaps  few  examples  of  it 
more  telling,  not  to  say  tear-compelling,  than  the 
incident  of  his  chaplain  singing  mass  for  him,  and 
dying  as  he  sang.  Joinville  was  ill  of  an  epidemic, 
and  so  was  his  chaplain, — "  pareillement  l'etoit  son 
pauvre  pretre.  Un  jour  advint,  ainsi  qu'il  chantoit 
messe  devant  le  senechal  couche  dans  son  lit, 
quand  le  pretre  fut  a  l'endroit  de  son  sacrement, 
Joinville  l'apercut  si  tres-malade,  .que  visiblement 
il  le  voyoit  pamer."  Joinville  instantly  scrambled 
out  of  bed,  and,  as  well  as  he  could,  supported  that 
fading  form.  "  Et  aussi  acheva-t-il  de  celebrer  sa 
messe,  et  onques  puis  ne  chanta,  et  mourut.  Dieu 
en  ait  lame," 

Malherbe  is  said  to  have  died  singing  in  a 
broken  voice  (en  mourant  il  chantait  d'une  voix 
cassec),  "  Je  suis  a  Rhodante,  je  veux  mourir  sien." 

If  Lucan  died  not  singing — as  the  blood  ebbed 
gradually  away  and  away  from  the  veins  he  had 


318    PAULO  PR^E,  PAULO  POST  MORTEM. 

opened, — at  least  he  died  repeating  some  of  his 
own  verses,  which  described  the  death  of  a  wounded 
soldier  from  loss  of  blood.  Thomas  Hood,  when 
his  mind  was  wandering,  towards  the  last,  though 
he  sang  not,  repeated,  in  tones  his  children  can 
never  forget,  "I'm  wearin'  awa',  Jean,  like  snaw- 
wreaths  in  thaw,  Jean, — I'm  wearin'  awa' — to  the 
land  o'  the  leal."  No  one,  testifies  Mrs.  Broderip, 
could  listen  to  this  without  tears,  coming  from  the 
frail  form  that  was  fading  so  fast ;  and  the  effect 
must  have  been  the  more  touching  from  Jane  being 
the  name  of  the  wife  he  was  leaving.  Sometimes 
the  dying  person  will  have  others  sing, — perhaps 
enjoin  a  song  of  praise  after  the  last  sigh  is 
exhaled  ;  as  did  John  Wesley's  venerable  mother, 
the  widow  of  the  good  rector  of  Epworth.  "  We 
stood  round  the  bed,"  says  the  most  renowned  of 
her  sons,  "and  fulfilled  her  last  request,  uttered  a 
little  before  she  lost  her  speech  :  '  Children,  as 
soon  as  I  am  released,  sing  a  psalm  of  praise  to 
God.'"  Dr.  Holmes  somewhere  utters  a  bene- 
diction on1  "  dear  good  Dr.  Watts,"  for  "  those 
blessed  hymns  of  his  "  that  sing  us  into  conscious- 
ness in  our  cradles,  and  come  back  to  us  in  sweet, 
single  verses,  between  the  moments  of  wandering 
and  of  stupor,  when  we  lie  dying,  and  sound  over 
us  when  we  can  no  longer  hear  them,  "  bringing 
grateful  tears  to  the  hot  aching  eyes  beneath  the 


"SKIRLING  AT  AULD  SANGS?  319 

thick  black  veils."  Blind  Alice  in  Mary  Barton, 
dying,  sings  at  intervals,  like  the  child  she  deems 
herself;  with  the  dearly-loved  ones  around  her, 
with  the  scent  of  the  heather,  and  the  song  of  the 
wild  bird  hovering  about  her  in  imagination — with 
old  scraps  of  ballads,  or  old  primitive  versions  of 
the  Psalms  (such  as  are  sung  in  country  churches 
half  draperied  over  with  ivy,  and  where  the  running 
brook,  or  the  murmuring  wind  among  the  trees, 
makes  fit  accompaniment  to  the  chorus  of  human 
voices  uttering  praise  and  thanksgiving  to  their 
God).  Zilia,  in  the  Surgeon's  Daughter*  seizes  a 
harpsichord,  and  wanders  over  the  keys,  producing 
a  wilderness  of  harmony,  composed  of  passages 
recalled  by  memory,  or  combined  by  her  own 
musical  aptitude,  until  at  length  her  voice  and 
instrument  unite  in  "one  of  those  magnificent 
hymns  in  which  her  youth  had  praised  her  Maker, 
with  voice  and  harp,  like  the  royal  Hebrew  who 
composed  it."  Her  vocal  tones,  conjoined  with 
those  of  the  instrument,  "  rose  to  a  pitch  of  bril- 
liancy seldom  attained  by  the  most  distinguished 

*  In  a  much  earlier,  and  happier,  fiction  of  Sir  Walter's, 
The  Antiquary,  there  is  an  aged  woman  whom,  on  her 
dying  bed,  Monkbarns  is  surprised  to  overhear,  chanting 
with  tremulous  voice  a  wild  and  doleful  ballad.  Ochiltree 
calls  it  a  sad  thing  "  to  see  human  nature  sae  far  o'erta'en  as 
to  be  skirling  at  auld  sangs  "  after  that  sort 


320  SONGSTRESS  DYING  WITH  HER  STRAIN. 

performers,  and  then  sank  into  a  dying  cadence, 
which  fell,  never  again  to  rise, — for  the  songstress 
had  died  with  her  strain."  Anon  her  husband 
speaks  of  her  as  the  angel  who  had  escaped  from 
earth  in  a  flood  of  harmony.  Mr.  Nassau  Senior, 
without  condescending  to  details,  pronounces  the 
death  of  Zilia,  her  last  breath  poured  out  in  song, 
to  be  a  physical  impossibility.  He  would  probably 
have  taken  exception,  on  other  grounds,  to  Madame 
de  Charriere's  Caliste,  "  exhalant  a  Dieu  sa  belle 
ame  en  faisant  ex^cuter  le  Messiah  de  Handel  et 
le  Stabat  de  Pergolese."  But  he  might  have 
borne  with  the  death-song  of  poor  Fantine  in  Les 
Miserables,  who  "all  at  once  began  singing  in  a 
voice  faint  as  a  sigh.  It  was  an  old  cradle-song 
with  which  she  had  in  former  times  lulled  her  little 
Cosette  to  sleep,  and  which  had  not  once  recurred  to 
her  during  the  five  years  since  she  had  been  parted 
from   her  child."*     The  realism  of  the  romancer 


*  "  She  sang  with  so  sad  a  voice  and  to  so  soft  an  air  that 
it  was  enough  to  make  any  one  weep,  even  "  [this  is  like  M. 
Hugo]  "  a  nun.  The  sister,  who  was  accustomed  to  austere 
things,  felt  a  tear  in  her  eye."  (ch.  liv.) — Mrs.  Gore,  in  her 
tale  of  Court  and  City,  puts  into  the  mouth  of  an  affectionate 
old  nurse  the  graphic,  homely  description  of  her  dead-and- 
gone  young  mistress's  last  hours,  and  it  comprises  this  in- 
cident :  "  And  then,  bursting  out  a-singing,  all  as  one  as  she 
was  in  the  organ-loft.  Never  did  her  poor  voice  sound  finer 
nor  more  sweet  than  only  half  an  hour  before  she  died ;  and 


SELF-SUNG   TO    THE  LAST  SLEEP.       321 

has  touched  more  hearts  to  the  core  than  the 
classical  eloquence  of  an  earlier  French  poet,  who 
pictures  aj6 lie  expirant  sous  le  cypres  paterncl : 

"  Sa  voix  mourante  a  son  luth  solitaire 
Confie  encore  un  chant  delicieux, 
Mais  ce  doux  chant,  commence  sur  la  terre, 
Devait,  helas  !  s'achever  dans  les  cieux." 

master's  hand  in  hers,  begging  her  to  compose  herself,  and 
not  sing  so.  .  .  .  At  last,  another  hymn,  as  clear  and  sweet 
as  a  nightingale  ! — Everybody  present  said  'twas  the  song  of 
angels."  (ch.  xxv.) 

There  is  a  strange  impulse,  observes  the  author  of  Bred, 
which  sometimes  comes  in  the  restlessness  and  distress  of 
dissolving  nature,  to  sing.  Accordingly  the  Nina  of  that 
book  is  described,  as  she  lies  with  her  eyes  closed,  apparently 
in  a  sort  of  trance,  singing  over  and  over  again  the  verse 
of  the  song  she  was  singing  when  the  cholera  struck  her 
down. 

Of  old  Jacques,  in  the  story  called  Hedged  In,  from  a  pen 
which  took  so  many  notes  of  things  seen,  or  guessed  at, 
through  gates  ajar,  this  account  is  given  by  the  rough  help 
whose  help  he  could  almost  as  well  have  done  without :  "As 
fast  as  he  grew  worse,  he  took  to  singin' ;  and  at  the  last, — 
at  nine  o'  the  clock  this  day  nicht,  in  a  fearsome,  still  kind  o' 
nicht,  a'  munelicht  an'  stars,  ....  he  sang  as  you  mought 
hear  him  across  the  street,  an'  sang  as  he  war  bent  on  singin' 
o'  himsel'  to  sleep  like  ;  .  .  .  .  an'  sae  singin'  an'  playin' 
in  the  air  wi'  his  fingers  on  guitars  as  nae  mon  but  himsel' 
could  see,  he  dropped  off,  plump  !  wi'  the  stroke  o'  nine." 
(ch.  xviii.) 

The  Romance  of  War  tells  us  of  a  Gordon  Highlander  in 
one  of  the  Peninsular  campaigns,  who,  in  delirious  agony,  as 
he  lay  quivering  in  the  grasp  of  death,  chanted  in  low  mur- 

21 


322  SONGS  OF  THE  DYING. 

But  Millevoye's  lines  had  in  their  own  day,  and  in 

his  own  land,  an  acceptance  as  cordial  as,  in  ours, 

have  had  those  of  the  laureate  on  her  who,  robed 

in  snowy  white,  floated  down  to  Camelot ;  and  as 

the  boat-head  wound  along,  the  willowy  hills  and 

fields  among,  they  heard  her  singing  her  last  song, 

the  Lady  of  Shalott. 

"Heard  a  carol,  mournful,  holy, 
Chanted  loudly,  chanted  lowly, 
Till  her  blood  was  frozen  slowly, 
And  her  eyes  were  darken'd  wholly, 

Turn'd  to  tower'd  Camelot ; 
For  ere  she  reach'd  upon  the  tide 
The  first  house  by  the  water-side, 
Singing  in  her  song  she  died, 

The  Lady  of  Shalott." 

When  the  time  was  come  for  Bunyan's  last  band 
of  pilgrims  to  cross  the  swellings  of  Jordan, 
Mr.  Despondency's  daughter,  Much-afraid,  "went 
through  the  river  singing,  but  none  could  under- 
stand what  she  said." 

muring  tones  a  plaintive  Gaelic  dirge,  probably  the  death- 
song  of  his  race  ;  and  how,  as  his  voice  sunk  and  died  away, 
the  spirit  of  that  "  son  of  the  mist "  seemed  to  pass  with  it. 
Tradition  relates  that  Rob  Roy  was  visited  on  his  death-bed 
by  a  person  with  whom  he  was  at  enmity,  and  that  as  soon 
as  the  visitor,  whom  he  treated  with  a  cold,  haughty  civility 
during  their  short  conference,  had  departed,  the  dying  man 
said,  "  Now  all  is  over — let  the  piper  play  Ha  til  mi  tulidh 
(we  return  no  more)  " — and  he  is  said  to  have  expired  before 
the  dirge  was  finished. 


SONGS  OF  IMMORTALITY.  323 

And  across  the  river,  on  the  other  side,  they 
sing  a  new  song.  For  as  surely  as  if  the  soul  of 
man  is  immortal,  death  hath  no  dominion  over  it> 
and  effects  no  solution  of  continuity  in  its  exist- 
ence, so  surely,  if  the  Christian  creed  be  true,  and 
truly  interpreted,  the  voice  of  praise  shall  renew 
its  strength  in  other  worlds  than  this.    ' 

"  I'll  praise  my  Maker  with  my  breath  ; 
And  when  mine  eyes  are  closed  in  death, 

Praise  shall  employ  my  nobler  powers  : 
My  day  of  praise  shall  ne'er  be  past, 
While  life  and  thought  and  being  last, 

Or  immortality  endures." 


INDEX. 


Abbey,  Westmr.,  organ,  33,  36 
Addison,   quoted,    10,  174,  209, 

231,  244 
Agesilaus,  217 
Alcibiades,  178 
Allen  of  Bristol,  27 
Amphion,  187,  188 
Analogies  of  the  Sister  Arts,  122 
Anstey,  C,  quoted,  229,  233 
Anthem,  Rustic,  16,  225 
Antwerp  cathedral,  32 
Arnauld,  97 

Arne,  Dr.,  143,  237,  253 
Art  analogies,  122 
As  vinegar  upon  nitre,  50 
Ass's  bray  156,  164.  sq. 
Aula  lang  syne,  294 
Aytoun,  W.  E.,  quoted,  281 

B. 

Bach,  J.  S.,  288 
Ballad  tunes,  57  sq.,  259 
Balzac,  quoted,  34,  38,  82 
Barham,  R.  H.,  quoted,  58 
Basil,  St.,  on  dancing,  98 
Beattie,  quoted,  217 
Beddoes,  W.  L.,  quoted,  206 
Beethoven,   54,  65,  119.577.,  145 

sq.,  197,  199,  20I  sq.,  288 
Bennett,  Sir  W.  S.,  195 
Blake,  W.,  Death  of,  310 
Boileau,  quoted,  166,  187 
Boswell,  quoted,  290 


Bounds    to  province  of  music 

241  sq. 
Boyd,  Dr.,  quoted,  103,  241 
Brass  bands,  70  sq. 
Bravura  singing,  23  sq.,  83 
Braying,  164  sq. 
Brienne,  158 
Bronte,  C,  quoted,  95 
Brooks,  C.  S.,  quoted,  102 
Brown,  Dr.  John,    quoted,   166, 

184,  242 
Browne,  Sir  T.,  quoted,  7,  193, 

254,  303 
Browning,    E.  B.,   quoted,    24, 

39,  45,  135,  151,  177,  278, 

286 
Browning,    R.,  quoted,    25  sq., 

189,  228 
Brute- world  and  music,  164  sq. 
Bunyan,   quoted,    101,  137,  267 

sq.,  322 
Burgess,  Bishop,  301 
Burns,  R.,  quoted,  55 
Burton's  Anatomy,  74,  89 
Butler,  S.,  quoted,  31,  130,  139 
Buxton,  Sir  T.  F.,  169 

C. 

Cant  of  connoisseurs,  161 
Carlyle,    quoted,    8,    112,    180, 

201,  312 
Cary,  H.  F.,  quoted,  28 
Casuistry  of  dancing,  96 
Cattle  and  music,  167  sq. 
Cellini,  B.,  181 


326 


INDEX, 


Cervantes,  quoted,  167,  168,  242 
Chalmers,  Dr.,  preaching,  3 
Channing,  Dr.,  194,  251 
Charles  VI.,  Emperor,  112 
Charles  IX.,  76 
Chasles,  Ph.,  quoted,  168,  204 
Chateaubriand,  quoted,  176 
Chatterton,  quoted,  27 
Chaucer,  quoted,    138,  262,  303 
Chesterfield,  Lord,  quoted,  129, 

Choir,  Rustic,  9  sq.,  225  sq. 

Chopin,  308 

Choral  symphonies,  8 

Clarke,  Dr.  Adam,  236 

Clarke,  Rev.  Erskine,  on  danc- 
ing, 103 

Cleomenes,  106 

Cockburn,  Lord,  quoted,  2 

Coleridge,  Hartley,  quoted,  8, 
11,  122,  166,  215 

Coleridge,  H.  N.,  quoted,  228 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  quoted,  89, 
172,  179,  193 

Collier,  Jer.,  quoted,  170 

Collins,  W.  W.,  quoted,  82,  84, 

85.  307 
Concerted  music,  117 
Congreve,  quoted,  187 
Cooper,  J.  F.,  quoted,  278,  314 
Copleston,  Bp.,  quoted,   172 
Comwallis,  C.  F.,  quoted,  243 
Counterpoint,  63 
Cowley,  quoted,  74 
Cowper,  quoted,  165,  171,  270 
Coxe,  Archdeacon,  quoted,  112 
Croly,  Dr.  G.,  quoted,  2, 140, 292 
Crotch,  Dr.,  quoted,  64 
Crying  singers,  289 
Currie,  Dr.,  quoted,  102 
Czerwinski,  quoted,  97 


Dallas,  E.  S.,  quoted,  33,   101, 

212 
Dancing,  30,  96  sq. 
Dapples  bray,  168 
David's  minstrelsv.  n?. 


Davies,  Sir  John,  quoted,  96,  99 
Deaf  musicians,  145  sq. 
Delitsch,  quoted,  245 
Deschauel,  E.,  quoted,  42 
Dickens,  C.,   quoted,    161,    183, 

273,  289 
Discordant  sounds,  166 
Disraeli,  B.,  quoted,  53,  79,  118, 

192,  222 
Disraeli,  Isaac,  quoted,  175,  176 

290 
Dogs  and  music,  184 
Dorian  music,  250 
Dryden,  quoted,  2,  22,  32,   134, 

136,  176,  179,  261 

E. 

Eagles,  J.,  quoted,  61,  225 
Ear  for  music,  142  sq. 
Eastern  music,  153  sq. 
Eastlake,  Lady,  quoted,  20,  22, 

123^.,  198,  222,  228,  237, 

241,  296 
Effeminacy,  charged  on  music, 

250  sq. 
Eglintoune,  Lady,  181 
Eliot,    George,   quoted,    14,   15, 

56,  184,  241,  243,  283,  300 
Elisha  and  minstrel,  191 
Emerson,  R.  W.,  quoted,  94 
Emigrants  and   songs  of  home, 

292 
Epaminondas,  flute  player,  179 
"Ethiopians"    of    the    streets, 

66  sq. 
Exile,  Songs  of,  277 
Exorcism,  Musical,  75,  77,  80 
Expectoration  in  church,  4 

F. 

Feltham,  O.,  quoted,  95,  96,  99 

sq.,  152,  238 
Fiddling,  no  sq.,  184 
Fielding,  quoted,  57 
Flute,  177  sq. 
Fontaine,  La,  quoted,  169,   171, 

271,  304 


INDEX. 


327 


Franklin,  B.,  293 
Frederick  the  Great,  1 12,  180 
Freytag,  G.,  quoted,  297 
Fugue,  19,  25  sq. 
Fuller,  Margaret,  234 

G. 

Gait,  John,  quoted,  255 
Gaskell,  Mrs.,  quoted,  319 
George,    King,     of     Hanover, 

quoted,  52,  119 
German  and  Italian  music  com- 
pared, 196  jy.,  204  jy. 
Gibbon,  quoted,  138,   139,   261, 

31? 
Girondins,  315 
Gluck,  231,  337 
Goddard,  Joseph,  quoted,   200, 

210 
Goethe,  quoted,  82,  274 
Golden  lecture,  3 
Goldsmith,  182  ;  quoted,  93  . 
Gore,  Mrs.,  quoted,  23,  62,  234, 

320 
Goya,  149 

Grahame,  J.,  quoted,  35,  74 
Gregorian  chants,  24 
Grinders,  Organ,  49  sq.,  71 
Grote,  G.,  quoted,  20 

H. 

Hahn-Hahn,  quoted,  154 
Hailstone  chorus,  219 
Haliburton,  quoted,  62,   128 
Hall,  Bp.,  quoted,  298 
Hall,  Robert,  preaching,  4 
Halle,  Charles,  198 
Hainan,  113 

Handel,  123  sq.,  213,  219  sq. 
Hare,  J.  C.,  quoted,  230,  255 
Harmony  in  music,  19,  20 
Harp,  79,  80 
Hartley,  D.,  quoted,  146 
Haweis,  H.  R.,  252 
Hawthorne,  N.,  quoted,  285 
Haydn,  62,  125,   204,  207,  220, 
308 


Hazlitt,  W.,  quoted,  37,  94,  291 
Helps,  A.,  quoted,  18,  65,  93 
Heman,  113 

Hemans,  Mrs.,  quoted,  135 
Henry  VIII.,  112 
Herbert,  G.,  quoted,  134 
Herbert,  Lord,  quoted,  112 
Herodias'  daughter,  98,  102  sq. 
Herrnhuters,  301,  313 
Hill,  Rowland,  127 
Hoffman,  quoted,  238 
Hogg,  J.,  quoted,  29,  190 
Holland,  Dr.  J.  G.,  quoted,  33 
Holmes,  Dr.  O.  W.,  quoted,  12, 

45,   7o,   83,   199,  231,  279, 

319 
Homer,  246,  249 
Hood,    T.,     Death    of,     318; 

quoted,  67,  19 1 
Horner,  F.,  quoted,  56 
Hughes,  T.,  quoted,  13 
Hugo,  Victor,  quoted,  144,  320 
Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha,  25  sq. 
Hullah,  J.,  quoted,  24 
Hume,  D.,  quoted,  58 
Hunt,  Leigh,  quoted,  32,  42,  94, 

103,    136,    159,  230,     246, 

255,  263 

I. 

Imitative  music,  216  sq. 

Instrumental  music,  119  sq. 

Instruments  of  music,  Jewish, 
116^. 

Irving,  Washington,  quoted,  11, 
36,  61,  218,  261,  294 

Italian  and  German  music  com- 
pared, 196  jy.,  204^. 


Jahn,  quoted,  25,  116 
James  I.  of  Scotland,  109 
James  III.,  n  1 
Jannsen,  quoted,  24 
Jean  Paul,  264  sq. 
Jerrold,  D.,  quoted,  280 
Joachim,  Joseph,  no,  198 
Johnson,  Dr.,  143,  273 


328 


INDEX. 


Joinville,  quoted,  317 

Jones  of  Nayland,  on  dancing, 

104 
Jonson,  B.,  quoted,  70,  76,  189 
Jubal,  17,  25,  29 


Keats,  quoted,  137,  263,  304 
Keble,  quoted,  13,  246,  270 
Kelly,  Michael,  63 
Kiesewetter,  quoted,  21 
Knowles,  J.  S.,  quoted,  61 
Kreutzer  sonata,  The,  175 


Lablache,  Death  of,  309 
Lamartine,  quoted,  258 
Lamb,  C,  quoted,  142,  198 
Landor,    W.    S.,     quoted,   130, 

231,  247,  279,  306 
Laprade,  V.,  239 
Lecky,  W.  H.,  quoted,  80 
Lenz,  quoted,  205 
Leslie,  C.  R.,   160 
Lewes,  G.  H.,  quoted,  121,  196 
Lieder  ohne  Worte,  200,  213 
Lizard,  176 

Lochaber  no  more,  290,  295 
Lock,  M.,  229 
Locke,  John,  quoted,  227 
Longfellow,  quoted,  68,126,134, 

271 
Lowell,  J.  R.,  quoted,  172 
Lucan,  317 
Lulli,  229 

Luther,  75,  153,  182 
Lytton,  Lord,  quoted,  34,   107, 

186,  306 
Lytton,  Hon.  R.,  quoted,  306 

M. 
Macaulay,  Lord,  quoted,  3,  iSS 
Mace,  Thos.,  quoted,  11, 
Mackenzie,  H.,  quoted,  35,  55 
Malherbe,  317 
Marcello,  219 
Martin,  Theodore,  quoted,  129 


Mather,  Cotton,  28 
Maurice,  F.  D.,  quoted,  194 
Meetz,  62 

Melvill,  Henry,  1  sq. 

Mendelssohn,  F.B.,  76,  146, 175, 
199,  200,  219,  243,  272, 
274,  287,  2S8,  300 

Merivale,  H.,  quoted,  97 

Merry,  Is  any?  253 

Meyerbeer,  65,  237,  244 

Millevoye,  quoted,  321 

Milman,  Dean,  quoted,  72 

Milton,  quoted,  24,  28,  79,  91, 
133,  13S,  239 

Mimetic  music,  209  sq. 

Moir,  D.  M.,  quoted,  281,  293 

Moliere,  quoted,  162 

Montaigne,  quoted,  146 

Moore,  T.,  84,  234,  259,  260, 
283,  295^.,  311 

Motley,  J.  L.,  quoted,  32 

Mouse  and  music,  174  sq. 

Mozart,  20,  63,   125,  135,  307 

Music  and  Morals,  236 

Musical  box,  301 

Musical  monarchs,  86  sq. 

Musicians,  Strictures  on  charac- 
ter of,  247 

N. 

Nero,  107 

Nerval,  G.  de,  quoted,  57 

Newbigging  on  church  music,  12 

Niebuhr,  56 

Night,  Songs  in  the,  298 

Nightingale,  172 

Nohl,  L.,  quoted,  119 

O. 

Odium  musicum,  248 

O'Keefe,  79 

Oliphant,  Mrs.,  quoted,  5,  235, 

282 
Organ,  Church,  25   sq.  ;  street-, 

grinding,  41  sq.,  71 
Orleans,       Duchesse      d',      Si  ; 

Madame  Mere,  92 
Orpheus,  174,  176 


INDEX. 


329 


Oublicheff,  quoted,  205 
Ovation,  18 

Overbury,   Sir   T.,   quoted,   30, 
3i>  i§9 

P. 

Faganini,  211 

Pan's  pipe,  23 

Patmore,  C.,  quoted,  255 

Peacock,  T.  L.,  quoted,  19,  23, 

62 
Pellisson  in  prison,  1 76 
Pepys,  S.,  quoted,  31,  58,  156^. 
Perthes,  F.,  290 
Phelps,  E.  S.,  quoted,  321 
Pied  piper,  174 
Pilgrimage,  Songs  of,  267 
Planche,  G.,  quoted,  208,  210 
Plutarch,  quoted,  106,  134,  138, 

169,  251 
Polko,  Mine.,  quoted,  175 
Pope,  quoted,  166,  167,  307 
Power  of  sound,  262 
Prior,  quoted,  93,  259 
Prison  songs  by  night,  302 
Procter,    13.    W.,    quoted,    163, 

275 

Q. 

Quarterly  Review,  quoted,    20, 

52,63 
Quiet  street,  65 
Quillinan,  E.,  quoted,  93 
Quincey,   Thos.   de,  quoted,  53 

sq.,  89  sq.,    192,    I95i  216, 

283,  299 
Quixote,  Don,  168 

R. 

Racine,  quoted,  1 31 
Rameau,  204 

Ramsay,  Dean,  quoted,  88 
Ranz  des  Vaches,  290  . 
Reade,  C.,  quoted,    14,  78,  '92, 

184,  273,  296 
Religion  and  Art,  124 
Remusat,  Mme.  de,  quoted,  179 


Rene,  King,  109  sq.,  152 
Requiem,  307 
Richard  III.,  in 
Richter,  J.  P.  F. ,  264  sq. 
Rob  Roy,  Death  of,  322 
Rogers,  S.,  42,  57 
Roscoe,  \V.  C,  quoted,  93 
Rossini,  256 
Rousseau,  J.  J.,  quoted,  84, 

283 
Rowe,  N.,  quoted,  51 


Sadness  and  music,  256  sq. 
Safety-valve,  Music  a,  83 
Sainte-Beuve,  quoted,  108,  128, 

178,  262 
Sala,  G.  A.,  quoted,  46,  62,  66 
Sand,  G.,  quoted,  60 
Saturday    Review,    quoted,    12, 

47,  59,  65,   114,  205,  214, 

251 
Saul's  malady,  72,  191 
Savage,  M.  W.,  quoted,  58 
Schimmelpenninck,  M.  A., 

quoted,  180,  291 
Schreckensnote,  205 
Schubert,  197,  264  sq. 
Scientific  music,  60  sq. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  quoted, -51,  57, 

63,   77,   100,   105,    109  sq., 

139,  152,159,  160,  183,  189, 

271,281,319 
Shakspeare,  quoted,  7,   18,  45, 

69,  81,    130,   140^.,    151, 

162,    173,    177,    246,    253, 

255,  303,  304,  307 
Sharpe,  Granville,  80 
Shell,  Sea-,  murmur,  279  sq. 
Shenstone,  quoted,  126 
Sheridan,  156  ;  quoted,  61,  69 
Sidney,  Sir  P.,  84 
Smart,  Chr.,  quoted,  73 
Smith,  Adam,  quoted,  87 
Smith,  Alex.,  quoted,  37,  294- 
Smith,  Sydney,  quoted,  223 
Smollett,  quoted,  69 
Snake-charming,  176^. 


33o 


INDEX. 


Solace,  Music  a,  81  sq. 

Sonata,  203 

Songs,  56  sq.  ;  of  exile,  277  ; 
of  pilgrimage,  267  ;  in  the 
night,  298  ;  of  other  years, 

295 
Sophocles,  quoted,  272 
Southey,  quoted,  7,  30,  75,  113, 

144,  313 
Spencer,   Herbert,  quoted,    17, 

42,  94,  150,  230 
Sphere-music,  6  sq. 
Spicier  and  music,  175,  176 
Spohr,  197,  262 
Squalling-boxes  in  church,   12 
Stael,    Mme.    de,   quoted,  237, 

254,  297,  300 
Sternhold  and  Hopkins,   IO 
Stowe,  Mrs.,  quoted,  274,  321 
Street-music,  66  sq. 
Swan  song,  303  sq. 
Swift,  quoted,  96,  106,  156,  175, 

176 
Swinburne,  A.  G.,  quoted,  237 
Swiss,  290 
Symphonies,  119  sq.,  201, 208^. 


Taine,  H.,  quoted,  231,  239 
Talking  against  music,  228  sq. 
Taylor,  Sir  H.,  quoted,  50 
Tears  at  music,  284  sq. 
Temple  music,  29  sq.,  113  sq. 
Temple,  Sir  W.,  188 
Tennyson,  quoted,  36,  174,  211, 

213,  249,  305,  322 
Thackeray,  W.  M.,  quoted,  43, 

156,  250,  289,  295 
Theodoric,  252 
Thibault,  106 
Thomson,  J.,  quoted,    22,  1 77, 

246,  250.  301 
Tocqueville,  Ue,  quoted,  26 1 
Trench,  Mrs.  Rd.,  quoted,  232 
Tramp,  The  last,  132  sq.,  141 
Trumpet,  129  sq.,  164 


Tune,  Catching,  65  ;  A  mere,  54 

160  ;   Hymn,  126  sq. 
Tytler,  P.  F.,  quoted,   II,  229 
Tytler,  S.  A.,  quoted,  294 
Tytler,  W.,  quoted,  153 

U. 

Uncertain  sound,  224 

V. 

Vanbrugh,  Sir  J.,  quoted,  232 

Vergniaud,  316 

Vinegar  upon  nitre,  As,  50 

Violin,  211 

Virgil,  quoted,  271 

Vocal  and  instrumental,  1 18 

W. 

Waits,  299  sq. 

Waller,  quoted,  9,  1S7,  283 

Wardlaw,  Dr.,  quoted,  4 

War  Horse,  164,  175 

Watts's  Songs,  318 

Weber,  286 

Weeping  at  music,  284  sq. 

Wesley,  313,  318 

Whately,  Miss,  quoted,  155 

Wilson,  John,  quoted,  166,  178 

Windham,  W,  quoted,  42 

Winter,  De,  1S0 

Wolcot,  quoted,  23,    156,   172, 

173 
Wordless  music,  198,  237 
Words,  Songs  without,  200 
Wordsworth,    quoted,    36,    39, 

40,  115,  123,  141,  159,  171, 

174,  179,  1S8,  262,279,  2S1, 

291.  304 
Work,  Singing  at,  273 
Wortley,  LadyM.  W. , quoted,  156 

Y. 

Yates,  E.,  quoted,  45 
Yonge,  C.  M.,  quoted.  258 
Young,  quoted,  133,  249. 


Printed  by  Watson  and  Hazell,  London  and  Aylesbury. 


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